Forged Smile
by ButtermilkCavalry
Summary: "Peter would get his wife back home. And his dog an a leash." Takes place right after 3.10 Countdown. I have no idea how cruel I'll be in the future, so be warned. Neal will get hurt, probably worse than intended. No slash
1. Puppy

**Author's Note:** This story was supposed to be a shorter story in a new fandom. I had found a new obsession in White Collar shortly before I started to write this and I never imagined how much fun it would make. I quickly got hooked on the show and our fandom is so great, no wonder I was inspired along this journey. I wouldn't have written a WC-fanfic without **Phoenix-cry**'s story "The Nightingale" here on FF, which you should read, because it is amazing and obviously an inspiration for "Forged Smile". I didn't have a beta for the first five chapters; then **canadianscanget** helped me out and she was so great that I don't even know how to thank her. This will be AU after episode 3.11 but it's hiatus right now so from January on you should read this as AU. Here's what I think might happen after Keller took Elizabeth. I hope you'll have as much fun reading this story as I had writing it. Thanks for every comment and review. I hope you'll enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: White Collar and all those wonderful characters do not belong to me. Just borrowing. You could call it a forgery…

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><p>Neal Caffrey was really speechless. On every other day Peter would have thrown a party. But not tonight. Tonight, he had problems not to pull his gun and shoot his CI where he stood. He tried to avoid this very strong desire and turned around to Diana.<p>

"Are there any indications that she was hurt? That he... hurt her?"

Diana flashed a glance in Jones' direction.

"I didn't ask him, I asked you. Do I have to assume somebody hurt my wife?"

"No, boss, nothing but the pot. We didn't find any blood."

Peter sighed and tried to focus. Everything was too fast; or maybe he was just too slow to understand this whole situation. It wasn't fair that this had to happen to _her_. Even the dog showed more signs of an evil gene than El. And he was a friggin labrador. There was no reason to hurt her. No reason but Neal.

"We'll find her."

Rage was lurking in Peter's chest like an animal on a hunt when he felt Neal's hand on his shoulder and heard him talking as if everything was just fine. It wasn't.

"_We_ won't do anything! You lost your right to be part of my team when you tricked me, lied to me and destroyed the little faith I still had in you with your selfish obsession for glimmering things! _I_ will find El - on my own; and _you _will simply tell me where the hell that treasure is and then you'll go home and stay at you apartment until this is over."

Neal's eyes were filled with cold horror, then with unconcealed anger.

"You really believe that this is my fault?"

Peter laughed at first; then, out of nowhere, he pushed Neal against the wall. He felt his partner struggling to breath, but the agent wasn't ready to loosen his grip.

"Tell me... what... to believe, Neal! Keller said you had that treasure, he saw it and he wants it. Usually there isn't a ransom note without the RANSOM, so tell me... what to believe!"

Peter was dragged away by Jones, but he was finished with Neal anyway. He didn't even flinch when the con-man put on his fedora and straightened up, his jaw pushed, his nose turned up at him.

"I didn't steal it, Peter. I told you before. Believe what you want."

Neal shook his head and left the house, but not without Jones following him. Peter wanted to go after him, but the ringing of his phone caught his attention. Everyone in the room stopped moving, except for the agent with the tracking system. He pushed several buttons; then he gave Peter his okay.

"Keller? Where did you take her?"

Peter hated himself for his incapacity to keep his voice calm. Keller laughed.

"Don't be so nervous, Agent Burke, it doesn't suit you. Get it? _Suit_ you... Never mind. Your _wifey_ is fine."

"Let me talk to her."

Peter already knew the answer.

"No. You can assure yourself of her well-being when we meet to exchange her for your puppy's buried bone. I guess you've already punished him for being such a naughty boy?"

The FBI agent wasn't sure what annoyed him more. That Keller was talking to him like this or that he was actually right about how he had treated Neal.

"He denies that he has it."

Keller laughed again and Peter almost lost his patience. Only the thought Keller might hurt Elizabeth made him swallow the words he had on his tongue.

"Agent Burke, you'll have to learn a lot more about Mr. Caffrey, if you really want to put him on a leash and make him retrieve. Ask him again! And I'll give you the advice to put a little more pressure on him... I'll be in touch; have very nice evening, Agent."

When Keller hung up the phone, Peter looked desperately over to the guy with the tracking system, who hadn't finished pushing the buttons on his miracle box. When he finally stopped, he trembled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get him."

Peter just wanted to get out of this house and slowly frustration took place of his anger, when the young man called him back again.

"Agent Burke... We have another problem..."

Jones rushed into the room and Peter got a very bad feeling that a horrible night had just turned into something catastrophic. Nobody was interested in the agent with the device anymore; Jones had everyone's full attention.

"Peter, he distracted me, he... Neal's on the run. He cut his anklet."

Peter Burke remembered Keller's words and had to laugh although the whole world seemed to conspire against him.

"Bad boy, very bad."

Diana looked at him as if he was insane. And Peter had to admit that maybe she was right. He focused again and started to give orders until every agent knew what to do and Peter was alone in the house. Diane and three agents were checking out the neighborhood again as well as they kept the search for the van updated. Jones and the rest of the team was out with tracking dogs to get a lead on Caffrey. Peter himself went back to his car. He was almost sure that Neal would contact June, or Mozzie or maybe even Sara at some point. And if so, Peter would know. He would get his wife back home. And his dog on a leash.


	2. Opening Play

Neal tried to keep his hands from shaking, but every time Peter's face popped into his head, his nerves got lost somewhere between his heart and his stomach. He couldn't remember Peter ever being that angry or cold. At least not toward Neal. And he couldn't even do as much as being mad at Peter because of his reaction. Sure, it bothered Neal that Peter didn't believe him - it hurt him even more than he wanted to admit - but no matter how hard Neal tried to twist and turn the situation in his head, in the end he played a big part in Elizabeth's abduction. And that almost drove him crazy.

Peter's wife had always been like a hot cup of tea on a cold day in winter. Her warmth and generosity had always impressed him and the respect he felt for Peter was in parts built on the fact that the agent was able to hold a woman like her. That Elizabeth was used to threaten them was something Neal couldn't cope with. He hadn't been that furious since Kate's death and no matter how hard Peter tried to get him under control, he would not sit and wait and do nothing to help El. To hell with the consequences, especially when it was going to end poorly for Neal anyway, because Peter wouldn't trust him again after Keller's sick game.

Neal's decision to take the initiative had come from mind and heart at the same time and distracting Jones had been the first and easiest step of the way. Simulating a coughing fit, abstracting the knife from the left pocket, cutting the anklet while falling to his knees, letting Jones help him, pushing the agent aside, running as hell, getting into a cab and that's that. Neal knew that it made him look a little bit like an amateur but hey, any port in a storm. And after all, it had worked and he had gotten rid of the annoying little tracking device.

Now, Neal carefully took the steps to his apartment and prayed that Peter was still as sharp as always despite the horrible situation. Only a fool would go back home after a successful escape and hopefully June's house would be the last place Peter would check to find him. It was a strange feeling to sneak into his apartment. There had been times when Neal had been used to this feeling and it was only now he understood how awkward it really was. A stranger in his own home. But discretion is the better part of valor and Neal wasn't willing to drag June into his mess. He sighed in relief when he reached his door without being seen and then again when he found himself alone in his little refugee. He couldn't avoid a powerless chuckle. Peter had never made a secret of the fact that he knew Neal better than anyone, but it had never come to his mind that it also worked the other way round.

Neal rushed to his bed and opened one of the pillows with the knife he had stolen from Jones – borrowed from Jones – and took the mobile phone he kept there for moments like this. He didn't know where to find Keller but he certainly knew people who knew people who knew people who knew how to contact that bastard. Neal just hoped that they would help him. It wasn't unusual to lose your right to call in favors when you worked as a consultant for the FBI. But he had to give it a shot.

Neal turned around and turned the phone on. He didn't want to take any risks and a piece of paper wouldn't be as easy to track down as a phone. He wanted to sit down and write down the numbers he would most likely need and it was only then when he saw the typewriter on the table. He wondered how he could have missed it when he had entered, but it didn't really matter now. Neal sat down and looked it over. He wasn't an expert on this, but as far as he could tell this was an authentic Sholes and Glidden. The black wood was decorated with marquetry, the front showed a bouquet of blue and purple violas made out of bright enamel. A sheet of light blue paper was stuck on the paper clamp and Neal frowned when he read the text.

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><p><em>I'm one of eight. I go always forth and never back, to protect someone from the foe's attack. I slowly go where I am led and no one cares if I end up dead.<em>

_What am I?_

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><p>Neal couldn't help lowering his opinion of Keller. Riddles were great; but this was more like a child's game than a real challenge. Pathetic and ridiculous. Obviously Neal had given his opponent way more credit than he deserved. The worst thing was that he had to play along. This rules were stupid without any doubt; but they were rules and Neal didn't want to take the risk and break them. So he sat down and typed in the answer.<p>

**P**. The Sholes and Glidden was like a wild horse, waiting to be domesticated. **A**. With every letter Neal heard a soft click that wasn't supposed to be there. **W**. He hoped that this was right and that this wasn't a trap after all. But it was too late to hesitate and curiosity had always been one of his weak spots. **N**. The wooden plate with the violas clicked and opened a hidden compartment. Neal had to admit that whoever had built this little precious little thing had known how to lock things away with style. The encoder from the late 19th century even allowed to change the password. Smart.

The letter lay right there. Neal made sure that there weren't any more traps to secure the compartment, then he cautiously took the small piece of paper. He seemed to be lucky - no more riddles.

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><p><em>I've always enjoyed a good game with you, Caffrey. But I fear I'm at the end of my tether, so I guess it's time to change the rules. I suggest you call me and play along, because your queen has already been captured and it seems to me that your king is without backup right now. Checkmate.<em>

* * *

><p>Neal tried to bottle up his anger. He'd need to keep a level head if he wanted to take Keller down. And nothing else seemed to be an option. Not after what had happened to Elizabeth.<p>

There was a telephone number at the end of the page and there was no reason to hesitate any longer. If Keller wanted a game, he would get one. Neal took his phone and when he dialed he tried to get rid of the feeling that while there was nothing to win, he could lose everything. His hands started shaking again. _You better win, Caffrey. You better win._ Keller picked up the phone after the first ringing.

"Hello, Caffrey!"

Neal took a deep breath. Pawn to e4.


	3. Anagram

Peter hadn't been aware of how much he had missed playing cat and mouse with Neal. He had made a huge mistake when he had considered the con man a friend, but that was only more fuel to the thrill now. He would hunt him down again and there wouldn't be any deals waiting for Neal this time. Not after what he had done now, running from this, leaving him with a mess he shouldn't have to go through alone. Wherever he was hiding, the air would grow thin soon.

When he parked his car in front of June's house he shot a short glance to Neal's apartment. He didn't see anything, but that didn't mean that there wasn't anybody there. Peter hadn't been able to contact Mozzie, not even on his "Call-me-only-if-Neal-is-in-serious-trouble"-phone. The guy seemed to have vanished into thin air. Sara hadn't heard from Neal either, but she had given Peter her word that she would call him as soon as she knew something about his whereabouts. An agent on a stakeout was watching her if she changed her mind. Peter had also tried his old apartment. He knew that Neal had never sold it, but the guard at the entrance had assured Peter that he hadn't seen Mr. Halden in years. It really seemed as if Neal had taken the most stupid option only to distract him, but Peter was too angry to be amused about being tricked by his ex-partner.

June didn't answer the door immediately. Peter felt guilt crawling up his spine for waking the elderly woman, but he was literally running out of time. June started to look concerned the moment she saw him.

"Peter... Something wrong with Neal? Did anything happen to him?"

_Dammit_. She didn't know.

"As far as I know he's fine. At least good enough to run away from me." Peter noticed that June frowned. "You haven't seen him tonight, have you?"

She shook her head.

"No, sorry. I just saw Mozzie at about, hm... maybe five o'clock. He acted weird, though."

Now that got Peter's attention.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, he told me to take care of Neal. If I didn't knew better, I'd say it was..."

"...goodbye."

June looked Peter in the eyes and nodded. Step by step Peter was able to paint a picture. If Mozzie was on the run there had to be a reason for it. And it wouldn't surprise Peter, if this reason was signed by Degas, Matisse and Van Dyke. It would explain everything, even if it wasn't helping him solving any problems.

"June, I need to see his apartment."

"Of course you do."

June took a few steps back to let Peter in, who went straight to Neal's apartment. Frustration hit him when he found it abandoned. He quickly looked for a few things of importance – the passports behind the painting next to the bed, the tools in the kitchen, the brush set Peter knew Neal had gotten from Kate. The con man had left and Peter had little to nothing left to find him. His whole life had turned from his personal paradise to his worst nightmare withing a few hours and what hurt him most about that was that he had counted on Neal. Keller would be hard to find anyway, but without the treasure as ransom and without Neal to help him, Peter didn't see a chance to get El back in one piece. The idea of her getting hurt changed him somehow. There wasn't anything that he wouldn't do. If he had to, he'd literally go over dead bodies and he wasn't sure if he liked the man he was about to become.

When his phone rang and he saw Jones' name on the display he considered not picking up. What could he tell him anyway? That they had no clue? That he was sorry about what had happened? Peter blinked away the tears in his eyes and answered his phone.

"Peter, I have bad news."

"What is it?"

"Neal got caught on a camera near Central Park. He's armed and the NYPD considers him dangerous and first priority. The press is already on it."

"Damn it, Jones, if we put pressure on Neal we put pressure on Keller. Get those hyenas to stay out of our way. Just buy us some time. And contact NYPD, Interpol, hell, call the Mossad if you have to and tell them that Caffrey is our business. When he's caught, I'll be the one slapping the cuffs on him. Anything from Diana?"

"She's trying to get traffic camera footage of the van, but she hasn't anything solid so far. We meet at the office?"

"Yeah, I'm going through Neal's stuff, maybe I find something that'll help us. He's in a rush, sooner or later he's going to make mistakes. Call me, if there's something new."

"Gott'cha. See you then."

Closing his phone Peter started to look around. He didn't have any illusions about the con artist. Neal rarely made any mistakes, even when he was under pressure, but sometimes he got sloppy when things got personal. Peter had to count on Neal's sympathy for El. He went through a stack of papers on the kitchen table, then he searched every drawer of the mirror cabinet. It looked like Neal had left most of his things behind. Peter entered the closet. He couldn't tell if there were any clothes missing but he had a strange feeling being in there and his guts hadn't let him down so far. He carefully searched the whole closet and when he pushed aside the tuxedos he apparently found what he was looking for. There was no dust on the antique typewriter, but even if there was – why would Neal put away a typewriter behind his evening attire?

Peter called Jones to send him a forensic team. He knew from other cases that the analysis of the ink ribbon would only take a few hours. Chances were good that he they could reconstruct at least the final lines that had been written with this machine. It probably wasn't that much, but it was a beginning.

It took the forensics ten minutes to get to the apartment. They wanted to take the typewriter and head back to the lab immediately, but Peter held them back. He asked for aluminium powder and a brush and although he earned a few suspicious looks, he got both. He carefully applied some of the powder on the typewriter's keypad and smiled. There was only a handful of prints. He wrote down the letters and hoped that he would get something out of them.

After Peter had given the forensics his permission to go, he sat down at Neal's table with a piece of paper and watched at the letters he had written down.

**W E R T Y I O P A S M N '**

The prints on E, R and P weren't as good as the others, which indicated that those letters had been used more than once. First thing he got was "Try Rome's Paper In Maw", which wasn't very likely. He tried again. "Mean's Wear Top Pry". When he discovered something peculiar, he wondered if Neal had written two unconnected messages. Because when he left A, W and N aside he got something that cut him to the quick and that left no doubt that Neal had already done or was otherwise up to something extremely stupid or dangerous. Probably both. This line of action, that whole hidden message thing fit Neal perfectly and Peter called the lab to push the investigations on the ink ribbon. While the woman in the lab told him that they hadn't gotten any results yet, Peter's instincts told him that he didn't really need them. He had the answer right in front of him and he couldn't keep his eyes off the words.

**I'M SORRY PETER**


	4. Forged Smile

a/n: The following chapter might seem a little bit implausible, but nothing's impossible, right? And I guess I liked the idea too much to let it go...

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><p>"Now look at you, running around with a gun… Is it possible that Neal Caffrey actually learned a few things from me?"<p>

The construction site on Water Street had been abandoned shortly after Neal had met Keller there and Neal couldn't shake the feeling that he was trapped in Groundhog Day. The other thief stood almost exactly where he had done during the case with the Benjamin Franklin Bottle.

Neal gulped down his anger and smiled. Convincing Keller was the most important part of his plan. It seemed as if he was about to find out how much of a con artist he really was.

"Just an insurance, Keller. This deal is way too important to seal it without any backup plan. Especially now that I'm on my own."

He moved forward and showed Keller his bare ankle when he stepped outside the two miles radius. Keller showed exactly the reaction Neal had prayed for to get. Surprise.

"I have to admit that I'm curious. What's behind all this, Caffrey? You wanna split? Because then I'd have to disappoint you. I want the whole treasure, or sweet Mrs. Burke isn't going to get home."

Neal nodded and hesitated for only a moment. An all-in had never been that hard before.

"Remember my friend Mozzie?"

"The bald dwarf?"

"Don't underestimate him. He was the one who had your treasure the whole time. And now he fooled both of us. Took off, everything's gone."

Neal's heart was speeding up when he saw Keller losing his temper.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You came here to tell me _this_? You want me to kill off that bitch?"

"Hey, you can do whatever you want. I really don't care. The reason I came was something else, though. I could offer you a promotion."

This was it. If Keller took the bait now Elizabeth would be as good as free. What would happen afterwards didn't really matter to Neal.

"What… You wanna make me believe that it's a pity that you lost the biggest treasure of our century but I shouldn't care about that, because… oh yeah, right, you have something better? And what would that be? How stupid do you think I am?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. This battle wasn't lost yet.

"I can make a queen out of your pawn. I can give you… something more valuable… than all the paintings of the U-boat together." Neal lowered his voice to a whisper. "I can give you our Holy Grail."

Keller looked at him closely and Neal knew that he got him. Keller was as much hooked on excitement as he was. He wouldn't be able to stay away from this.

"La Gioconda?"

Matchpoint.

"Exactly."

"Are you telling me that you are going to steal from the Louvre? Are you listening to yourself?"

Neal smiled again.

"I'm not talking about the forgery in Paris. I'm talking about the actual painting, Da Vinci's masterpiece. Been having the old lady for a few years now. Europe had more for me in store than just Backgammon, you know…"

Keller started to pace around, his eyes unfocused. Neal could understand that. Life didn't offer many opportunities like that. The memory of holding the small painting in his own hands still made Neal speechless. Keller wouldn't be able to resist the idea of him being the guy who sold the most valuable painting in the world on the black market. Neal's opponent suddenly stopped in his tracks.

"I don't believe it. That's just a legend. They investigated the cracks in the 50's. And Peruggia was an amateur."

"Maybe he was, but Eduardo de Valfierno wasn't and neither was Yves Chaudron. You know what Chaudron was capable of, Keller. Of course they looked at the cracks after the painting had returned to Paris and of course it seemed authentic, but there are three small lines in the upper left corner which hadn't been there before the heist, Y and C. Yves Chaudron. Believe me, the painting they show thousands of visitors every day is not La Gioconda."

"Come on, Caffrey, do you believe in fairytales now? That heist is a legend art thief's tell their children. So there were a few cracks more, the painting was probably damaged when Peruggia took it. Nobody could make a forgery look that good."

"Chaudron could. And he did. Keller, I saw her, I saw pictures of her taken before the heist and I saw her in Paris and the real Mona Lisa is in my possession."

Neal felt the sweat on his back. Keller _had_ to believe him, there was no other option. Mozzie had probably left the state by now and Peter would catch up quickly. If the FBI showed up, Keller would have to take Elizabeth as leverage to get away. After that she would be useless weight and Keller had shown in Monaco that he had no problems with dropping dead bodies. Neal's time was running out and he had only one ace up his sleeve. The size of Keller's ego.

"Look, I don't like sharing with you and I certainly wouldn't under other circumstances. I have to get away, now, and for that I need money. Mozzie is gone with the treasure and Peter is on both our tracks. You have nothing to lose here, Keller. Come with me, look at the painting and assure yourself. If it's real, we'll be able to get out of here. If not, you'll still have me as a hostage. Come on, we've been playing for years now, you know how much we can achieve together."

Keller nodded and relief made Neal's skin tingle.

"Alright, Caffrey, but I'm telling you. If this is a con, I'm going to put a bullet in your head, right between that pretty blue eyes of yours. Did I make myself clear?"

Neal smiled and assured Keller, that he understood perfectly fine. _Always forth and never back._ He slowly realized what he had gotten himself into and he was surprised that it didn't matter what was happening to him, as long as Peter and El were safe. Maybe he had changed after all. It hurt him that Peter wouldn't be able to see it this way. In a few days the Mona Lisa would show up on the black market out of the blue and Peter would know who to blame. It would be the biggest art scandal of their time. Peter would hunt him down with no time to breath, while he'd be probably dead, because Keller was surely not willing to let him stay alive. Something inside of Neal died when he thought about how his friendship to Peter was about to come to an end. For him, there was only one thing left to do, a last chance to make up for the he had caused.

"You know you have to let Burke's wife go, right? He won't stop hunting us as long as we have her."

Keller laughed. That was not good.

"Maybe later, Caffrey. When I've seen your little lady friend and can be sure, that her smile is real. Come on, now."

Neal followed Keller. After less than five minutes they reached a black van. A guy Neal didn't know opened the door for Keller and him to get into the car. Neal cursed under his breath when he got sight of Elizabeth. The woman looked up to him with red eyes. The gag in her mouth left red welts and bruises on her cheeks. There was nothing Neal wanted more than getting her out of this car and take her some place safe, but he needed Keller to trust him. Killing a fraud was one thing, killing a partner in front of hired men was something completely different. It would destroy the little reputation Keller had left. There wasn't much of a chance to get out of this alive anyway, but Neal wasn't ready to give it away completely. So he sealed away the feelings he had toward El and her husband and chuckled while Keller watched him carefully.

"I guess, Peter and you shouldn't have trusted me, El… Once a con, always a con."

Keller laughed and grabbed Elizabeth's chin, forcing her to look at him.

"You have to see the bright side here, sweetie, you are going to see the Mona Lisa today!"

Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes and Neal hoped that she would understand some day. But even if she didn't, she was worth it. That's why he hadn't run. That's why he didn't risk her life and kill Keller right now. That's why he smiled on. Because she and Peter, both of them, were worth it. _Always forth and never back._ Everything would be fine.

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><p>an: The criminals mentioned in this chapter are the men who actually stole La Gioconda. If you're interested in the story, the internet is full of it. Pretty fascinating...


	5. Debt

Peter Burke had always been good at fighting off exhaustion. He knew that his cases were not just about art or investments or money, but about people. Individuals tended to connect their memories to certain items, the loss of those items often had more to do with emotions than anything else. Likewise, financial losses had an emotional impact on lifestyles and future hopes and dreams. When it came to museums, it was the curators who affected Peter. They invested their time taking care of unique items, often priceless but also culturally significant treasures. The curators held those items in trust for the viewing public, the entire society. It left them devastated when something got stolen on their watch. Peter's dedication to his job was a result of the empathy he felt for people. It was never hard to stay awake with people as motivation.

Peter usually is driven by his motivation to help people, his focus is on them and it was never hard to stay awake during a tough case. This time it was different. With El he didn't only lose his focus, it went deeper than that. He'd lost the confidence that it takes to make decisions. He feared each decision would be the wrong one. Peter felt stranded, he didn't believe in himself anymore nor the actions he needed to take. Exhaustion took him over. Diana and Jones came into his office in turns, asking him this and that to have an excuse to check on him. Peter was still hoping to get something more from the riddle the lab had been successful in reconstructing from the ink band. He thought they had a lead at first, but the only thing he had was a note from the secret compartment inside the typewriter. And he had known its message before. _'I'm sorry Peter_._'_As if it would change anything…

For the first time since Elizabeth had been taken he was more concerned about Neal than angry with him. He knew from experience, that dealing with Keller was dangerous, but with Caffrey taking the challenge it was a risk Peter wasn't able to calculate.

Diana came in carrying two files and Peter could tell from the way she was dancing around, shifting from one foot to another, that they were bad news.

"What is it?"

She handed him one file.

"I talked do Agent Flannigan from ATF… The Russians are after Keller and it looks like he's in serious trouble."

Peter frowned and looked at the names and pictures in the file.

"He still owes them money?"

Diana nodded.

"They want three million dollars by tomorrow night. Told him that they'd kill him and everyone involved with him if they don't get it."

The realization hit Peter like a train.

"If they find him, and El is still with him…"

"They won't spare her. Or Neal, if he's with 'em. There's only one good thing… They will have problems to find Keller as well." She opened the second folder and handed Peter the picture of a dead man. Parts of his face, around his right eye, were missing.

"The middleman was killed yesterday. Victor Niemetz, 38 years old. He was shot from behind. What you can see is the exit wound. Whoever did this used something with a big destruction channel. Maybe a 5.7x28 mm cartridge. Ballistics will send us their report when they're finished, but Keller carries a Five-Seven, and as Niemetz is related to the Russian mob… If you ask me, it was him."

"When did it happen?"

"They haven't started the tests yet, but they assume that he was killed three,  
>maybe four hours ago."<p>

Peter checked his watch.

"Right after Neal took off… "

"You think he has something to do with this?"

"The truth? I have no idea what he's capable of anymore. Where did they find  
>the body?"<p>

"At a construction site on Water Street about an our ago.

Peter couldn't believe it.

"Water Street? Are you sure?"

"That's what Flannigan told me… Why, something off with it?"

Peter stood up and holstered his gun. His thoughts were slipping through his fingers and the room suddenly seemed too small to breath.

"I know that place… Neal has been there before. Call Jones and tell him to meet me there."

Diana was already pulled out her phone.

"Got it, should I come with you or is there anything else to do?"

"You stay here, talk to ATF again. I want everything on Niemetz and his boss. And not the short version, I want the full report. We have to know what we're up against."

Diana nodded and called Jones while Peter took the elevator. The small cabin intensified his feeling from the office. He loosened his tie and gasped for breath. All he could think about was Niemetz and the Russians and what people like them could to do people like his wife or his partner. Neal was deep in the mire with Keller's sick game and he had no idea who he was dealing with. Peter had to get him out of there, and fast. Just as the elevator stopped the last part of the chess riddle came to his mind. Sacrificing the pawn was nothing Peter wanted to think about now, but he couldn't shake the bad feeling that was starting to gnaw at him. And with what little faith he had left, Peter prayed to God that he could stop all this. And that Neal wouldn't get himself killed.


	6. Another Way To Die

Thefollowing chapter would suck, if it wasn't for **canadianscanget**, an amazing beta reader to work with, who seems to know this story better than I do sometimes. Thank you, you rock for that!

The lyrics in the beginning are from "Another Way To Die", written by Jack White and performed by himself and Alicia Keys. I know that it's initially written for James Bond only, but it is in parts also the main theme for this story.

**Disclaimer**: White Collar doesn't belong to me and neither does the James Bond song. I wouldn't mind, though.

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><p><em>Another one with the golden tongue poisoning your fantasy<br>Another bill from a killer turned a thriller to a tragedy_

_A door left open  
>A woman walking by<br>A drop in the water  
>A look in the eye<br>A phone on the table  
>A man on your side<br>Or someone that you think that you can trust  
>Is just<br>Another way to die_

_Another tricky little gun giving solace to the one that will never see the sunshine  
>Another inch of your life sacrificed for your brother in the nick of time<em>

* * *

><p>Keller touched her.<p>

He touched the Mona Lisa.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Breathe in.

Breath out.

It took Neal longer than he wanted to get himself calmed. It was incomprehensible, how could anyone touch this painting? The secret of La Gioconda had never been the smile. It was the small part of Da Vinci's soul he had left behind in every stroke of his brush. To touch this, this quintessence of brilliancy, was a violation of everything that Neal valued. But he didn't stop Keller. He didn't even try. He just stood there, breathing in and out, counting from one to ten, over and over again. Because he felt Elizabeth's eyes resting on him, her presence a constant reminder of what was at stake here. For him. For Peter. He wouldn't ruin this with words spoken to quickly, without thought.

Neal was on edge. Keller had examined the painting for over an hour now without uttering a single word. If Neal hadn't known that Keller was as cold as a fish, he'd say that his opponent was afraid of something. This could be an advantage, because it made Keller insecure, but on the other hand it was always a risk to corner a wounded animal. Whichever way it went down, Neal was going to find out probably sooner than later.

A cruel version of Tchaikovsky's Marche from the Nutcracker filled the room as Keller's cell started to ring. Keller rubbed his eyes and picked up the phone.

"Schmitt? Bist du's? Hast du einen Käufer für mich?"

Neal cursed when he realized that his German was more than just a little bit rusty. The only thing he could rely on was his talent to read other people's body language.

"Was meinst du damit, hast du vollkommen den Verstand verloren? Wie soll ich das beschissene Bild bis morgen nach München bringen?"

He was angry… and… distressed. Why would he be distressed? Neal watched Keller as he started to pace up and down the room, hissing into the phone.

"Ich kann hier nicht weg. Wenn ich die Mona Lisa nicht bis morgen loswerde, bin ich geliefert. Du schuldest mir was, du verdammter Bastard!"

Now, that word Neal did understand. Business was obviously not going well.

"Okay, hör zu, ich… schick mir einfach in der nächsten Woche einen Zwischenhändler. Wir regeln den Rest, sobald du einen Käufer hast… Gut. Man hört sich."

Whatever it was that Keller had just heard, it didn't seem to lift his spirit. There was something in the air, a cold eagerness and Neal was suddenly afraid. He turned around and found El on his right a few steps behind him. He slowly moved between her and Keller to cover her if necessary. The silence in the room was so full that Neal winced when the other man started to speak.

"I really couldn't believe it at first, Caffrey, but obviously you told me the truth. All this time, you were in possession of the original Mona Lisa… you could've gone wherever you wanted. Tell me… Why the hell did you stay?"

Keller looked deep into his eyes and he knew that there was no reason to lie here.

"Good question… You see, I couldn't sleep for almost a month. There was so much money to make with her, I couldn't even start to dream, much less really think about it. And I wanted to sell her, I really did, at first. But, there's something you don't understand, Keller. You never have and you never will. The whole dedication I put into this job, this life… It was all about people and the way they look at that paintings, their eyes filled with something deeper than admiration. They way they can sense truth in something, even if they can't really comprehend it, but _feel_ it, this miracle within a world entirely created by men, cheating time and death and God himself. The Louvre is a place full of this feeling and with selling La Gioconda I would have destroyed it, as well as the spirit of that smile you see there."

Neal looked over to Da Vinci's masterpiece, tears glistened in his eyes.

"Thousands of people would have felt betrayed. It's about people, Keller. It's about the desire for something so… stunning… that it makes you weep. I couldn't do that. I couldn't sell her."

Keller laughed and Neal was longing to find some comfort. He turned around to Elizabeth. Tears rolled down her cheeks, she had understood, hadn't she? Neal pushed his feelings aside, he needed to get Elizabeth out of Keller's way. He took all the courage he had and cleared his throat to change the subject.

"The painting's real, Keller. You have it, now let Burke's wife go."

Neal knew from the way Keller examined every inch of El's face that he wouldn't let her go. He was craving her with cold blooded calculation, which somehow didn't seem to be a contradiction for Keller. She was the tool he needed to get what he wanted.

"Caffrey, I know that I'm not in love with art the way you are obviously but there is a certain theme I've always admired, it's called 'Benjamin Franklin in Green'. I can't get enough of it. So tell me, why exactly should I be satisfied with just one painting worth several million, when I have the possibility of obtaining a treasure worth untold millions, as well?"

Keller gave the two muscles at the door a sign and firm hands grabbed Neal from behind. He felt the cold mouth of a gun in his neck. Apparently Neal had been wrong about Keller treating the lives of his business partners with respect. Bad Luck.

"Bastard, You promised to let her go."

Keller moved past Neal, as if he didn't exist. Keller's eyes never lost El and he laughed hoarsely when he pushed her against a wall. He started to touch her cheek, her neck and didn't even stop when he talked to Neal.

"Well, despite your opinion, Caffrey, I know the desire for something beautiful…"

Elizabeth was screaming through her gag. Keller kissed the soft shape of her collar bone. She struggled against his touch. Her muffled cries made Neal's heart clench. He tried to escape the tight grip of the men that were holding him back, but he didn't stand a chance against them.

"Leave her alone… I swear to you, Keller, if you harm her…"

Keller let go of Elizabeth and turned around to him. "Oh, I wouldn't harm a hair on her head… After all, she's my leverage, isn't she? See, that's the different between the two of us. I can draw a line between the things I want to do and I things I have to do to reach my target. And my target is that fucking treasure!"

"But the FBI can't get their hands on it, Keller. Don't you get it?"

Keller gripped Neal's hair and yanked his head back painfully. "Well then, they'll just have to give me the dollar value of the treasure." Keller released Neal with a sharp push.

Neal glared at Keller, then realization hit, "You need the money now, don't you? You have some kind of deadline… Who is it? The Italians? The Russians?"

Keller didn't respond, and Neal knew he was right. And he had never wanted to be wrong more in his entire life. If Keller owed somebody money, he would go through with this, no matter what. Neal needed a plan. Right now.

"Keller, listen to me… They won't give you the money and you know that. If they negotiate at all the handover will be a setup. They won't let you get away with this."

"Then call your little friend Mozzie and tell him to bring me the treasure. Or I swear to God, I'll kill Burke's pretty, little wife right here, right now!"

Neal knew that he was running out of time. He glanced over at El and met her pleading eyes. He had a plan.

"Shoot me."

Keller spun around and Elizabeth's eyes widened with fear. Neal only wished that he could tell her that everything was going to be alright.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mozzie… He won't give up the treasure. Certainly not for Burke's wife. If I call him myself, even if he answers, he'll know that there's something wrong and he won't show up. But I'm like a brother to him. His best friend. If he thinks that I'm in real danger..." He swallowed down his fear. "Mozzie will show, one way or another. So, let Elizabeth go, let her spread the word that you have me and that you've already hurt me, that you're probably going to kill me. When word is on the street it will get to Moz and he _will_show up, I promise. It's an easy con, Keller. You can't lose."

Keller squinted his eyes and seem to consider this whole thing. Neal knew that Keller would have to admit that Neal could get him closer to the treasure. But it was also true that El wouldn't be able to cause troubles the way Neal could do. He went over to El and Neal almost thought, that he had lost.

Keller pushed his gun to her temple, but then loosened El's gag and opened her handcuffs. She slumped down when she was finally free, trembling and gasping for air. Keller wiped a strand of hair out of her face and kissed her cheek. Then he started to talk to her, his voice barely a whisper, the gun still held menacingly to her temple.

"Listen to me, sweetheart, I know that your loving husband won't back down and in fact I count on that, because he might find Mozzie faster than anybody else. But if he interferes in any way, if he tries to set a trap or does anything of similar stupidity, I'll kill our friend Caffrey here. And then I'll come after you again. And I'll kill you. And then I'll kill your husband's colleagues. And maybe even your dog, just because I can. If he gets in my way, I'll destroy your husband, do you understand?"

El nodded and looked over to Neal. He tried to smile for her, but he couldn't.

Keller stood. The way he straightened up and looked at Neal, bowing his head to the right side… Something was wrong. Keller was a cobra ready to bite. And Neal had seen that too late.

"Look, Caffrey, no offense, buddy, forgeries are great sometimes… But they can't compare to an original artwork, don't you think? So why don't we make this whole thing a little bit more authentic, what do you say?"

Neal heard Elizabeth cry out when Keller pointed his gun at him. He wanted to close his eyes, but they were locked with Keller's, a dark hell of cruelty and determination. The other man blinked and smiled. And then he squeezed the trigger.


	7. Bias

"Boss, you won't like this."

Diana's voice let Peter look up from the photos of the crime scene. The truck was as suffocating as always but Peter hadn't heard a single complaint about it tonight. They could have gone through the evidence of Niemetz' murder at the office, but Jones had come up with the idea to do it in the truck of the forensic team to save them time. Peter refused at first. He wanted his team to take a break, even if it was only the time it took to get to the office, but Diana and Jones had insisted and started their work right away. Peter had never been more grateful to work with his team.

Peter tried to clear his mind from the pictures of the dead Russian and concentrate on whatever it was that Diana had found. She moved as much aside as the truck allowed to show Peter and Jones a view to the monitor in front of her. Peter couldn't believe it.

"You got the van?"

"I did. The footage is from a surveillance camera two blocks away from here. But that's not the interesting thing about it. Look."

She played the tape and a heavily armed man opened the back doors of the black van and stepped out. Then two other men arrived at the van. Even without the fedora, Peter could tell that the last one of them was Neal. He walked without any signs of hesitation, holding a gun loosely in his right hand. Neal gave the man who had opened the door for him a slight nod before getting into the van. The other man, obviously Keller, waited until Neal was in, then he followed him. The armed man got in and closed the doors behind him. Then the van took off. It all happened in less than a minute.

"They went north, but I lost the van after a few miles. Peter, look… I know you've trusted Caffrey, we all did, but… He's the one following Keller, not the other way round. And he has a gun. Don't you think that there's a possibility that…"

Peter felt hot and cold at the same time.

"What? That he's in on this? That he's Keller's partner? That HE is responsible for El's kidnapping?"

Peter had thought about this possibility before but it didn't make any sense. Why would Keller have called him if Neal was part of this? Why would he have taken El in the first place? Why keep up the façade?

"Peter, Diana's not saying that Neal's been behind this from the get-go… But maybe he and Keller made a deal. If they split the money from the treasure it would be enough for both of them. Keller would be able to clear his debt and in exchange for the cooperation he could help Caffrey to get out of the country."

It didn't sound like Neal but neither did a gun in the con man's hands and Peter had Neal carrying one on tape. Was it possible that Jones was right?

"But why keeping El?"

He knew the answer to it before Diana gave it to him.

"To keep you out of the picture."

Peter didn't want to believe this. Neal knew how important Elizabeth was to him. He had been to their house, he had accompanied El to exhibits, he had celebrated Christmas with them – could this all mean nothing to him? Did Caffrey want to get away from this life so desperately? That was exactly the reason Peter had tried so hard to prove that Neal was guilty of taking the treasure. Because the conman had never stopped to surprise him with one letdown after another. In the end Caffrey's only measurement for value seemed to be money.

Peter swore to himself that if Neal was really part of this, and his wife was hurt because of this, when he got him, prison would sound like heaven.

His phone rang and Peter was brought up short when he didn't know the number.

"Special Agent Burke…"

"Peter?"

Peter had never felt fear and relief at the same time before. He jumped out of his chair just to do something, anything with his body.

"El, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?"

She sounded anxious, but there were a lot of voices in the background.

"I'm alright, he let me go… I'm at Madison Square, Neal's still with Keller…"

"That son of a bitch! I promise, they'll pay for this, hon!"

"No, Peter, you don't understand. Keller has him, he's holding him hostage. Neal's been shot, Peter."

It was as if somebody had punched him into the stomach. Peter's jaw clenched and his mouth went dry. When would this nightmare stop? He had to find a way out of this, but first he needed to get El safe. She was closer to the bureau than to his current position and as much as he wanted to pick her up himself he didn't want to leave her alone that long.

"Hon, it would take me more than half an hour to get to you. I'll send somebody to bring you to the office, El, alright? I'll be there as fast as I can. We'll figure something out."

Peter could hear that El was crying now and he felt the very strong wish to punch something. He desperately wanted to hold his wife, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be alright. He slammed his fist against the wall of the van.

"You have to help him, hon, please!"

"I will. I promise."

El hung up and Peter called the bureau to send some agents to get his wife. Jones had already gotten out of the van into their own car, starting the engine but although Peter knew that everybody did their best, nothing was fast enough for him. He just wanted to get to Elizabeth. Right now.

They got to the bureau within fifteen minutes. Peter saw that El was already there, sitting in his office, a blanket around her shoulders, a cup of hot tea in her shaking hands. He took three steps at a time and El was falling into his arms when he entered the room. Peter held her for a moment, breathing in the scent of her skin. She was really there, safe and sound. He took her head and looked at her, he touched the welts on her cheeks and her cracked lips. He had to hold back his tears to see her like that.

"I'm so sorry, hon."

She shook her head.

"I'm okay, Peter. It wasn't your fault."

"You think you're ready to tell me what happened?"

Peter hated to ask but he also knew the procedure. The longer they waited the more El would forget. Agents were asking around at Madison Square but it seemed as if Elizabeth was their only witness. Her statement was their only clue to find Keller and Neal.

When Elizabeth nodded, Peter took her to an interview room, where Jones was already waiting to start the recording. Peter was watching from outside, listening to his wife from the other room. Bias be damned…

* * *

><p><em>"What's your name?"<em>

_"Elizabeth Burke"_

_"Can you tell us, what happened to you?"_

_"I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. It happened fast. I didn't hear anything, or… He came out of nowhere"_

_"Who?"_

_"Dunno. A tall guy, maybe 6'4"… White, dark eyes, brown hair. He just dragged me away. I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong, I couldn't even… I couldn't breathe and he wouldn't let... He just… He pushed me against a wall, cuffed my hands. Then he put something into my mouth… It hurt. He forced me to get out of the house and into a van. Keller was there."_

_"You knew Keller?"_

_"He told me who he was."_

_"Can you describe him?"_

_"He wasn't very tall. Six feet tall, tops. White. Dark hair. British accent."_

_"What happened next?"_

_"He threatened me. Said that if I didn't behave he'd kill me."_

_"Did you cooperate?"_

_"Didn't have any other options…"_

_"Where did he take you?"_

_"I stayed in the van. Keller picked up another man. They talked in a foreign language. Eastern European, probably Russian. At least it sounded Russian to me… They had a fight, but I don't know what it was about. After a while the car stopped. Keller and this other guy went out, the man who had attacked me at the house stayed with me. Keller came back alone. Then we waited. It was like… forever. I tried to count the seconds, but I gave it up after some time. Nobody said a word until Keller's phone started ringing. He smiled at me and… he told me that it would get interesting now. Neal was on the phone."_

_"Neal Caffrey?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"He called him Caffrey, so I guess… I'm pretty sure it was Neal Caffrey."_

_"What did Keller say?"_

_"He told Neal to come to the construction site on Water Street. Then he threw in some weird chess references… Can you believe this? I mean, who thinks that chess references are actually scaring anybody? Uhm… whatever, we waited again. Keller watched me most of the time… I mean, he looked at me, like… It was… He smiled all the time. Honestly, I didn't think he'd let me go. He left again when Neal called. They came back together. Neal laughed and said that Peter and I should never have trusted him. I thought… I was sure he betrayed us. That he was working with Keller. Then Keller grabbed me and told me that I was going to see the Mona Lisa."_

_"The Mona Lisa?"_

_"Yes, the painting."_

_"You were going to see the Mona Lisa?"_

_"Yes… Neal told the driver where to go. A warehouse near Stillwell Avenue. It took us a while to get there and when we arrived Keller took me with him. Neal opened a storage unit. There wasn't much in it. Just a desk and lamp. And a huge safe. I mean it, it was… Bigger than this room. He told Keller and his men to put on gloves and they were laughing at him, because… well… they were already wearing gloves and he got angry, … He told'em that they needed sterile gloves. They put'em on and Neal opened the safe for Keller. There was the Mona Lisa in it."_

_"A forgery?"_

_"Keller and Neal both said that it was the real one… The actual painting. But I'm not sure. Neal told Keller to let me go as he promised."_

_"Had he promised to let you go?"_

_"Maybe, while they had been alone."_

_"Did he let you go then?"_

_"No. He had talked to someone on the phone. Again in a foreign language. German, I guess. After that he refused to let me go. He was in trouble, needed money… Or at least, that's what Neal said. The driver and the man from the house… they took Neal… put a gun to his head… I thought they would… Keller he came over to me, he…"_

_"You want to take a break?"_

_"No, it's okay… He kissed… my cheeks and my neck… he said that he wanted the treasure as well… not only the Mona Lisa… and that he wouldn't harm me, because I was leverage. I was so afraid, he was so close…"_

_"But he let you go after all…"_

_"Neal told him to pull a con. Keller should threaten to shoot him, or put the word out that he had shot him, and I should make Peter find Mozzie. Neal thought that Mozzie would come if he was in danger. Keller obviously thought that it was a good idea… But he… he wanted to make it more realistic… He called it 'authentic'… He… Neal looked at me and he almost smiled… and Keller just went over to him… and… he shot him."_

_"Did he kill Caffrey?"_

_"He was breathing. But there was a lot of blood… And I… I called his name, but he wouldn't answer…he didn't ..."_

_"Could you see where the bullet hit Neal?"_

_"The left shoulder… Must be… right under his collar bone, it think…"_

_"What happened next?"_

_"Keller told his men to take me to 5th avenue. He wanted the place to be crowded. Would make it easier for them to get away and there'd been enough people for me to… to find somebody who would help me to contact my husband."_

_"Was there anything else he said?"_

_"No… Just that Peter should help to find Mozzie and that he should stay out of Keller's way."_

* * *

><p>Peter felt lost. He had heard every word Elizabeth had just said but he couldn't put it together. This whole time, when Peter thought Neal was on the run, leaving him with nothing to get his wife back, the con man had actually been out there saving Elizabeth's life. Putting his own life in danger. A bullet to the shoulder could mean everything from a flesh wound to a pierced lung. As far as Peter knew, Neal could already be dead.<p>

Peter cursed. Neal would not get away with this. Peter wouldn't allow him to die without telling the story how he got his hands on the damn Mona Lisa - allegedly. Neal would listen to Peter's sermon and to his apologies. And then he would get the thanks he deserved. Peter had promised El to help their friend. And he was about to keep this promise, come what may.


	8. Pain

Pain was not the problem. Well it was. For him, anyway. Because he wasn't used to it and he really didn't want to get used to it. But the part of his brain that was still bound to reality told him that pain was not the problem. It was the heat. Fever.

Neal tried to think through this cloud of feelings, he tried to remember how his mind had worked when it had been all sharp and fast, not blurred and slowed down by waves of physical sensations and memories almost forgotten. He couldn't concentrate on things right in front of him and that almost drove him crazy. He tried to think about something good, something he could hang on to and there was her smile again, the masterpiece, the one painting no one had ever known about, she belonged to him, looked at him, she touched his heart, his soul, she eased the pain, cooled him down, reminded him of something important, something that was part of him, that had always been there. Then she changed, hazel eyes, the smile stayed, but it was softer now and more vivid… Sara? Neal wanted to touch her, tell her that he had made a mistake, but he couldn't get to her, something was pulling him back, heat and pain. The pain again. Brought him back.

He tried to open his eyes. It was harder than ever before but eventually his body followed his orders. He tried to remember. Peter, Keller, the warehouse. El. Neal looked around, but he didn't recognize the place, which was bad. He had held onto the ridiculous hope that they would stay in the storage unit where he had kept the Mona Lisa. Would have made it easier for Peter to find him.

Someone laughed and Neal tried to turn around. He cried out in pain when his cuffed hand and his shoulder decided otherwise. He looked down to check his wound and found it dressed with gauze. Now who would have thought about that? Keller had treated him like an actual human being…

"Glad you made it back to the living, Caffrey… Had me worried for a while. I never thought you'd be such a sissy."

Keller stepped forward and put a hand on his forehead.

"You're burning up. You think you can hold on?"

"Why would you care?"

Neal was shocked when he heard his own voice, hoarse and weak. A silver tongue usually didn't come with the voice of a crow. Keller went to a desk on the other side of the room. He opened a drawer and pulled out a syringe and a couple of vials.

"Oh, I care a lot, because hostages are not very useful when they are dead, are they?"

Neal watched Keller drawing up the liquids from the vials and the absurdity of the situation made him chuckle.

"What? Not enough… that you've shot me? Now you… wanna poison me as well? Huh?"

Keller pushed out the air of the syringe and walked over to Neal.

"Quit whining, Caffrey, would you? It's only for your benefit. Morphine and some vitamins, electrolytes and glucose. You'll thank me for this."

Keller freed Neal's left arm from the cuffs. The small movement of his arm made Neal's head spin and his stomach turn. Keller pulled back the sleeve of Neal's shirt and gave him the shot. Then he changed the gauze on his shoulder with British dispassion.

"Now that we made sure that you've been well accommodated, why don't we call our friend Burky. What do you say?"

Keller cuffed him again and pulled out his phone. He started pacing again. It was the only sign that he wasn't as comfortable with this situation as he seemed to be.

"Greetings, Agent Burke. I guess your wife must be back by now…"

Keller smiled and nodded and Neal hated him for that. This man was smiling the whole time, as if it really was just a game to him. All the pain Keller had caused, all the people he had hurt… just a game between black and white. Pawns and kings, nothing more. If Neal hadn't hated him that much, he would have pitied him. If you took away the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of a victory there was nothing left in Keller's life.

"Yeah, I understand you perfectly fine, Burke. You think you need more time, yadda yadda, poppycock. But the thing is… I really don't care… I want that treasure."

Neal blinked away the tears in his eyes when he thought about Peter and El. The certainty that they were together eased his mind a little bit, but regret was like a constant pressure on his heart, making it hard for him to breath. He had betrayed them both.

"Oh come on, your puppy is fine. A bit battered, I admit, but nothing that couldn't be fixed. And he'll stay that way, at least for the next seventeen hours. Then, well ... you don't want to try my patience do you, Burky?"

Peter wouldn't stand a chance. Finding Mozzie within a day if he didn't want to be found was almost impossible. If Neal could only talk to Peter…

"A clue? Hah! I thought it was your job to pick up a trail. You really need your tracking dog for that? What exactly does your government pay you for?"

Keller walked over to him, smiled again. It never reached his eyes. But he clearly enjoyed this.

"Your master needs a trail. You have anything for him, boy?"

Neal knew that Keller was just teasing them, but this could be Neal's only chance and he was way too desperate to let this opportunity slip. Peter needed some input.

"Yeah… I… I guess I do. Actually."

Keller's eyes flared with rage. Neal knew how much he hated losing control.

"Excuse me?"

"Mozzie… I have no idea where… where he is, but.. he might stay in contact with, uhm… Bob Garson."

The tone in Keller's voice changed when he talked to Peter again. He was cold now and Neal knew that he would regret that he had kept this from Keller.

"You heard that? Find a Bob Garson. And you'd better find him in time."

Keller hang up and squatted down in front of Neal. He just looked at him for a moment, his tongue resting in the corner of his mouth.

"You think this is a game?"

Neal didn't even flinch.

"Your rules, Keller… Not mine."

Keller stood up in a heartbeat and the cell phone in his hand came down on Neal's temple faster than he could see. He blacked out for a second but Keller's voice brought him back sharply.

"I know you think you're smart, Caffrey, but you are not invincible. And neither are your friends. So you better tell me what you know right away. Who is Bob Garson?"

Neal thought about a proper answer for just a moment too long. Keller grabbed his shoulder and Neal screamed in agony**. **White flashes were ripping apart the world around him and it was suddenly clear to him that he couldn't survive this. Keller was a psychopath and he wouldn't let Neal out of this alive.

"Who is Bob Garson?"

Neal swallowed back his tears and gasped for air.

"A friend… A friend of Mozzie…a civilian. If anyone can find him, it's the FBI."

Keller stared into him**. **Neal tried his best not to blink. He tried to remind himself of the dogma he had lived by for so many years - _Believe your lie and others will believe__**.**_**  
><strong>  
>"Just a friend, huh? And why haven't you told me before?"<p>

_Believe your lie._

"I was afraid you'd hurt him."

"So he means something to you as well?"

Keller was challenging him.

_Believe your lie._

"He's… a friend."

Keller nodded.

"Let's hope so. Our little rumor has been out on the street for a few hours now, but it seems that Mozzie has either shut down all of his connections to our world or he has completely lost his interest in you. It seems as if Burke is your last hope."

Keller left the room without any further explanation. Neal thought about Peter again and how he had looked at him back at his house. The things the agent have said were still ringing in his ears.

'_You lost your right to be part of my team when you tricked me, lied to me and destroyed the little faith I still had in you with your selfish obsession for glimmering things.'_

Neal probably deserved this. But even if he was grasping at straws, Neal wanted to believe that Peter would do everything he could to find him and that their former friendship would mean enough to the agent to turn every stone upside down to get to him. He just had to believe. Neal laughed, tears rolling down his face._ Yeah, right, Caffrey. Believe__ your lie._


	9. Emerson

**Disclaimer**: White Collar does not belong to me. Neither does Emerson. Oh, I love Emerson…

* * *

><p>Peter's eyes burnt and his temples throbbed. If it wasn't for all the good he had experienced during their partnership, he would certainly regret making Neal his consultant. Only because the conman would still be in prison, not happy, true, but safe. And Peter would most likely be at home right now, watching the game with El. Instead, Neal was not safe at all but injured and taken hostage and Peter now faced the daunting challenge of bringing him back. Alive.<p>

"El…"

His wife looked up, ready to do whatever he asked her for.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to leave you alone, but…"

She tried her best to smile.

"I know. Go find Neal. Just… don't send me home. I don't wanna be there without you. Not after tonight…?"

Peter took Elizabeth's hands and kissed her fingers.

"Jones, can you get El settled somewhere quiet here, and get anything she needs? Find an agent to stay with her too."

The younger agent nodded and lead Elizabeth out of the room. Peter watched his wife until she was out of sight. Then he turned back to Diana.

"Did you find anything on Niemetz?"

"I'm afraid nothing that could help. Homicide is on it now, but they don't have much. Flannigan told me ATF wanted to check out if Niemetz left any paper trail. She'll tell us if they find anything useful."

"Good. Make sure you stay in contact with her. Keller is smart enough to know that he can't run from the Russian mob forever. He'll set up a meeting as soon as he has the money."

Diana raised her eyebrows.

"You think he will? After he killed one of them?"

Peter pushed his exhaustion aside. Keller was thinking sharp and acting fast. Following his steps, gaining the upper hand, taking him down – it was a challenge that incited Peter. It fueled him.

"As far as we know Niemetz was nothing more than a watchdog. The Russians will ask questions, because they are obligated to do so. But knowing Keller, he'll twist it look like an accident, a close fight that got out of control. Tragic, but not as important for the mob as money. Does the ATF have eyes on Niemetz' boss?"

Diana flicked through the papers in front of her.

"Yes, a guy called Misha Sokolow, aka the Falcon."

Peter smirked.

"Seriously? The _Falcon_?"

Diana rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, I know, but it has something to do with his last name. Apparently, means falcon in Russian."

Peter looked at the picture Diana handed over to him. The man on the picture actually did look like a falcon – a strong nose and something harsh in his eyes. Other than that he looked like the perfect gentleman. His suit reminded Peter of Neal's style, although Sokolow's wardrobe was obviously custom-tailored.

"Keller won't be able to get in contact with Sokolow personally. Way too hot for both parties. They know we always watch the top of the food chain. The entourage is a different kind of story. Way better to get in touch. I want eyes on Sokolow's inner circle as well."

"On it. Anything else?"

"No, that should be all. Where the hell is Jones?"

The other agent entered right on cue, assuring Peter that Elizabeth was fine.

"Good. Listen up, Keller told me Neal had a clue to find Mozzie. A Bob Garson. I want everything we have on that name. Send a BOLO out. He's our first priority. Any questions?"

* * *

><p>An hour later and they still had no whereabouts for Bob Garson.<p>

Jones looked at the documents in front of him.

"Birth certificate, social security number, bank accounts, college degree, it's all here, but aside from that Garson seems to be a ghost. As if he isn't even alive. A life in low-key…"

Something about it didn't seem right to Peter. He checked all the info he had on Garson again.

Then the break they needed arrived. They had a hit on their BOLO from a small local airport. A Bob Garson had left the country early this morning in a private plane, heading for Thira, a small Greek island. Garson had claimed to be relocating to Greece for health reasons and hadn't wanted to part with his collection of fine wines and antique furniture, which of course had already been crafted and security sealed by customs. He had all the requisite documents and nothing seemed suspicious.

Peter asked if the airport had any surveillance of Garson. When he received a fax with a photo a few minutes later, he shook his head and couldn't help but laugh.

"Genius bastard… Neal gave us Mozzie."

Jones looked up from his research.

"What?"

Peter gave him the fax that showed a small man, bald, with glasses and an oh so innocent look. Peter nodded when he saw Jones eyes widening.

"Not a life in low-key at all… A waterproof alias. Grab your stuff, we have a plane to catch."

"We're flying after him?"

"Nope, either turning him around or setting the local authorities on him."

* * *

><p>Peter cursed all his way to the airport. It was a 13 hours flight to Thira and Peter hoped desperately that Mozzie had either enough fuel to turn around or enough time to make it back after refueling. Peter didn't want to consider the possibility that Mozzie wouldn't come back at all. He'd no doubt find somewhere else to land the moment he knew Peter was after him. He had to hope Neal really did mean more to Mozzie than an untold wealth.<p>

Peter's badge helped a lot to sidestep bureaucracy and speed things up to access a radio control room. He was lead to a huge office. A blonde woman with a headset, and millions of buttons to push on her keypad, shook Peter's hand and asked him to take a seat. He gave her all the information he had on Bob Garson's flight to Greece. The woman gave Peter a second headset and focused on her job, working in complete silence. She had the right radio channel within a minute.

"Air Route Traffic Control Center to flight november – sierra – two – niner. Are you receiving me? Over."

"This is flight November – sierra – two – niner. I'm receiving you. Over."

"There is someone who wants to talk to you. Over."

The woman gave Peter a nod and opened the line for the second headset.

"Uhm, is this Bob Garson?" Peter hesitated a moment, then looked at the woman at the control panel. She formed a word with her lips and Peter sighed. This was ridiculous. "Over."

"Yes, indeed. Over."

"A Friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature. Over."

The line was quiet for a moment.

"Who are you? And why are you quoting Emerson? Over."

"Do you consider Neal Caffrey a friend of yours, Mr. Garson?"

Peter thought he had lost contact, then Mozzie finally answered.

"I do."

Relief made Peter shiver for a moment.

"Good. Then I can hopefully count on your help to retrieve a masterpiece."


	10. Locked

**Disclaimer**: White Collar does not belong to me. And the "fickle heart" is actually from Adele, but it somehow reminded me so much of Neal that I had to use it.

* * *

><p>He was thinking in circles. Whatever he was trying to set his mind on, he always ended up thinking about how inappropriate it would be to die right now. Inappropriate. Maybe, even more than that, it would be humiliating.<p>

Neal had never been the kind of guy who gave his own mortality much of a thought. Whenever he did, the idea of leaving something behind, even if it was only two letters hidden between lines of perfect forgeries, eased his mind. _Non omnis moriar_. He wouldn't die completely. However, thinking about the circumstances of his death was a different thing. He wanted to have a great finish. Dying as an old man in France with a last strong smile on his lips, watching his grandchildren painting a smiling sun with oil on canvas would absolutely do it for him. If he didn't get that, going out with a bang would also work. Neal swallowed down a bitter laugh when he remembered that he could have had both with Kate. Dying in an explosion would have been better than dying from the infection of a gunshot wound. It didn't have any sort of style whatsoever.

The only good thing about dying right here and now would be the fact that he wouldn't have to read the report on his case afterwards. _'The victim was found locked to a chair in an unsecured building.' _

On the other hand it was maybe the only report in his time with the FBI Neal would have completed voluntarily. _'It is well known that the victim would have picked his handcuffs with little to no effort under normal circumstances, and we presume that he was only prevented to do so by his reduced general condition.'_

He knew it could have been worse. Thanks to the morphine the pain was just a dull throb most of the time and although the fever hasn't been broken, he didn't feel so hot anymore. The one time the numbness in his shoulder threatened to turn to a hot sting, Keller had been ready, anticipating the need for another shot. Neal hated to be grateful for that treatment, but he also had to give Keller some credit. He really felt a little better. Keller's compassionate medical care, and the fact that Neal wasn't willing to let anyone refuse him the Grande Finale he deserved, kept him alive and furthermore _awake_ most of the time. It made him able to think. Not straight, but at least in circles.

When his mind wasn't twisted around an implausible escape and how foolish he felt as each ill conceived plan crumbled into disarray, Neal played with time. He caught himself counting seconds every once in a while and it almost drove him crazy. The small room he was in had no windows, but as the effect of morphine typically wore off after three to four hours, and his shoulder was beginning to ache again, it had to be about noon, maybe early afternoon. And no word from Peter or Mozzie. Neal wondered who he was trying to fool. Mozzie was probably on his way to Europe. Neal doubted that he'd come back for somebody who had turned his back on him the day before. And even if Mozz turned around, he wouldn't turn himself in to help the FBI. If Peter wanted Mozzie's help, he would be forced to work off records, fly under the radar, risking his career. Neal was certain Peter would have given everything to help him while he was convinced of Neal's innocence. But now, how far would he go for a rogue consultant? Neal's shoulder started to itch and he suddenly regret that he hadn't thought of an exit strategy before he had gotten himself into this mess. Great plan so far…

The door to the room opened and Keller strode in, pale and apparently nervous. His two muscles remained at the door, waiting for instructions from their boss. Keller crossed the room fast and stopped right next to Neal's chair. He stopped for a second, as though he didn't know what to do, then he sighed and pulled out his gun.

"Okay, Caffrey, listen carefully. We have to move and we have to do it now. You can have this the easy way, cooperate and just follow, or I can put a gag in your mouth and knock you out until this is over. And trust me, I'd love to beat the shit out of you, but I don't really have the time right now… So, what do you want?"

Neal didn't really understand what was going on, but he knew that he wasn't willing to take the risk and anger Keller. Moving somewhere else could be something good, maybe there was a blind spot in Keller's plan 'B' that could help him escape.

"You're the boss... Didn't have anything to do tonight anyway…"

Keller turned around to his men.

"Get him into the van. And be careful."

Gorilla One and Gorilla Two walked over to him and opened Neal's handcuffs. Neal just couldn't understand how somebody as smart as Keller could work with men that dumb. One of them had his gun clipped between his shirt and his pants, which probably should make him look all bad and incalculable, but was really one of the most stupid things you could do with a gun. The other one was more careful with his gun, but as stupid as his colleague, when it came to cell phones. Neal could see the phone's shape through the outer pocket of the guy's jacket. Maybe Keller hadn't told them who they were dealing with. Or maybe they were just as brainless as they looked.

When the two gorillas lifted him up, Neal didn't have to pretend to be weak. He couldn't get control over his legs but he also didn't really care. He had to focus on distracting Keller and his men to get that phone before they cuffed him again.

"Just… tell me… Mattie…" Ah yes, Neal got the attention he needed. No grown up man liked to be called Mattie.

Keller turned and glared at him, challenging Neal to continue.

"Is the FBI closing in? Peter… on your trail?"

Neal tried to hide his efforts to force some feeling into the tingling fingers of his right hand.

"Honestly? In this case, I wish it was the feds."

There was no sarcastic undertone in Keller's voice and Neal began to understand how dangerous things were about to become.

"The Russians?"

Keller snorted. Suddenly the violent glint in his eyes was gone and he reminded Neal of the man he used to work with in Europe. A professional and a friend at the same time…

"The Falcon."

Neal laughed out loud. He instantly regretted it, when Gorilla One drove a fist into his right side. Neal yelped and gasped in pain. He gagged from the sour taste in his mouth. Everything hurt and it was only the tight grip Gorilla Two had on him that kept him upright. He need to focus, so he could get his hands on Gorillas Two's cell phone. He blinked the world back into position but his breathing remained labored, raspy. The involvement of the Falcon scared him, as well as it satisfied him. Sokolow was known for his clean cut cruelty. Killing a man was no different than swatting a fly for him. And, he was one of the few godfathers who settled his affairs personally. If Keller owed the Falcon money and couldn't deliver, he would kill him without leaving a wisp of evidence, which included any potential witnesses.

"Are you… serious? Can't… get in bed… with the devil… without… gett'n burnt."

Now Keller looked amused.

"Says the guy who kept a Nazi treasure hidden in a storage locker and the Mona Lisa in a safe."

"Touché."

Keller smiled and for a moment Neal was able to forget how much he despised the man. His fickle heart could still remember the times they were both enjoying their Backgammon games, nothing to lose and nothing to win, just countless bottles of expensive wine. They had shared the same path, and Neal had always feared that a few wrong decisions would have made him like Keller. For the first time it hit him, Peter was responsible for more than just giving him a life he could be proud of, the agent had constantly prevented him from becoming the man he didn't want to be. Neal had to make it. He had to set things right between himself and Peter.

When Keller motioned for the Gorillas to get Neal out, the con man let himself fall against Gorillas Two. The man immediately hauled him up again, giving Neal just enough time to let his fingers do their magic. He let the phone slip into his back pocket and thanked God that it wasn't a smart phone. He would be able to call Peter as soon as he was in the van. He just hoped that his handler would figure out who was calling him. If the Falcon was on his way, Peter had to be fast to get to him. Neal clung to the torn fragments of their unusual friendship. He was confident Peter would try to get to him, if only for the fact, that unlike Neal, he wasn't just trying to become the best version of himself. He already was.


	11. Friends Of Mine

**Disclaimer**: White Collar doesn't belong to me, neither does Emerson or the lyric of the Hugh Dillon song "Friends of Mine" in the beginning of this chapter.

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><p><em>Wondering where I've been<br>Been watching the sun go down  
>Took care of everything<br>And now I'm back around  
>I finally got it sorted<br>You've heard it a thousand times  
>And you can check that story<br>You know they're no friends of mine  
>Never thought I'd take the time<br>Thought I'd said goodbye  
>Thought I'd left it all behind<br>The pages of my life  
>And maybe it's not that pretty<br>It's just a place in time  
>Those days are gone forever<br>And so are those friends of mine_

* * *

><p>"Look, Agent Burke, I understand how hard this must be for you, especially when someone's life depends on the success of our operation, but we've been trying to bring Sokolow down for more than eight years, if we get the chance to lure him out with this we have to take it."<p>

Peter's leg was bouncing up and down, while he pushed his cup from one hand to the other, over, and over, again. His coffee had long since turn bitter and cold, but Peter needed to occupy his hands to suppress his urge to pound his his fists into the table and shout at the small woman across from him. Agent Flannigan had been telling him, for over an hour now, how important it was to get the Falcon off the streets and locked away. She had confronted him with all the reasonable facts he didn't want to hear right now.

"Tell me you didn't just make that suggestion, Flannigan!" Peter shook his head in frustration. "You can't seriously think it would be reasonable to hand over a fortune of illegally acquired paintings and antiquities to Keller, a man who escaped our custody, so that he can give it to one of the most dangerous criminals in New York. And, not to mention, while Keller is holding not just anybody, but my partner, hostage!"

Flannigan glared at him and pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn't so much to avoid eye contact with Burke because she was scared of him, but because she didn't want to challenge him. And, although Peter was far from conceding anything, he could understand her. She spent her entire career on this case and this was probably the best opportunity to get to Sokolow for a long time.

"I don't think you're objective here, Peter."

Great, now she was playing that card. Peter couldn't believe this.

"Excuse me?"

Flannigan glared at him with a tired annoyance.

"If Keller still had your wife, I could understand your reaction, but Caffrey is NOT your partner. I get it - you work with him, you talk to him, you like each other, fine. But yours is a business relationship, he helps you, so he can stay out of prison. Period. And, bottom line – he is our asset. We allow him some freedom in exchange for his help to bring down the great whites in this shark tank. If he has to be the bait, let him be the bait!" She took a deep breath. "To be honest, I want you to work with me here, Peter, but I don't need you, I already have clearance for this operation."

The room was dead silent. Jones and Diana gaped at Peter, waiting for a cataclysmic outburst, but Peter and Flannigan just continued to stare each other down. After what seemed like an eternity, Peter bowed his head for a second, then looked up at the ceiling and blinked away tears of anger. He shoved his chair back and stood, his hands pressed to the table in front of him.

"Well, as you have the command and have obviously already made your decision, I suppose I'm done wasting my time with a dead end conversation about ethics. I have a treasure to retrieve. If you'll excuse me."

Peter headed to the door and waited for his team to join him. Jones followed on his heels, but Diana made no effort to move. Peter looked at her, but she just shook her head, her chin jerked up for a fraction. She wouldn't come. Peter's shoulders slumped when he realized Diana was taking Flannigan's side on this one. He gave her a bitter smile and left the room with Jones. It should have been clear to him, this was the FBI. Hughes was in no position to blow an operation for a consultant, who was a felon, and Diana was far too dedicated to the bureau to go against their superior. Peter thought he had known Diana better but...live and learn.

At least Peter knew how to proceed from here. He had wondered how to coax Mozzie to work with the FBI on the record, but now, as the bureau had decided to use Neal, instead of saving him, Peter had no reason not to bend the rules for Mozzie. It would take the little guy another hour to get to New York. Time enough for him to do everything in his power to make this whole situation safer for Neal's friend, and consequently for Neal too. He directed Jones to resume his work, while he headed to his office and went through every piece of paper they had received on this case so far, as well as his own reports, and either removed or deleted anything in direct reference to Mozzie. After half an hour, the only name showing on their file was Bob Garson. Peter smiled, took his jacket and left the office. It was time to welcome a friend back home.

* * *

><p>The room was dark and a little bit shabby. The building had a glass front, but dust, and something smudgy, kept the sunlight from penetrating the murk. Peter found it hard to reconcile the atmosphere inside the room with the cheerful, sunshine filled, blue sky day outside. He half expected the single, low watt bulb to flicker like they did in over dramatized Hollywood movies.<p>

There wasn't much furniture. Two stools stood in the middle of the room, while a mattress flopped listlessly in the corner. Nothing else. Peter had no idea how this place fit into Mozzie's usual lifestyle but then again, maybe that was the whole point. Peter heard somebody entering the room and turned around.

"What took you so long?"

Mozzie's lips were just a little bit puckered and Peter recognized it as the business face of Neal's friend.

"Excuse me, Suit. As you Emersoned me earlier, may I return the favor: _'Wise__ men put their trust in ideas and not in circumstances.__' _So, just because I trust you a little bit in general, doesn't mean I have to trust you will follow the rules of our partnership."

"You think I had you followed?"

"Indeed."

Peter couldn't really tell what made Mozzie so annoying at times, but he hadn't been in the room with the guy for five minutes, and his patience was already taxed.

"I'm alone."

"Yes, I know that. Otherwise I wouldn't have come… This conversation is full of redundant statements." Mozzie sighed and walked over to one of the stools. "You have my undivided attention for a full five minutes, suit."

"_Five_?"

"Four, and 57 seconds."

Peter had a lot to cram into five...four minutes and whatever number of seconds. He started from the get go and didn't spare any details. Mozzie lived in a different world, and things that sounded unimportant to Peter, could be instrumental in getting Neal back in Mozzie's realm.

Peter saw Mozzie frown, when he heard Sokolow's name. But if Mozzie had any information on the Falcon he refused to tell. Either, the mobster was feared due to his reputation alone, or Neal had been involved in something dangerous before – allegedly of course.

Twenty minutes and some odd seconds later, Mozzie had a good idea of what they were up against. Peter gave Mozzie a once over. The guy had been painfully quiet, and now his face bore such a lost expression, it made Peter's heart sink. He had forgotten that everything to this point ultimately lead back to the day Mozzie had stolen the Nazi treasure form under Aldler's nose.

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

The other man looked up vacantly.

"I'm a terrible person. You thought Neal was guilty all this time. He kept my secret, and then I pushed him to come with me, and then he wanted to stay, and I…"

Peter interrupted him, his heart skipping a beat.

"What did you just say?"

Mozzie lifted an eyebrow, then he frowned again.

"I'm a terrible person."

"No. No, no, after that… Neal wanted to ... He stayed?"

Mozzie seemed to interpret Peter's quizzical tone to be part of some covert questioning tactic. He squinted, then gazed down at his hands.

"He said, there were things about his life he wasn't ready to give up."

"Neal said that?"

"Unbelievable, right? I told him it was Stockholm syndrome…"

Peter rubbed his hands over his face. He didn't know what to think anymore.

"Neal could have fled the country with you… You'd both be in Thira by now…"

"That was the plan, yes. But we would have come home for Mrs. Suit. Neal would do anything for her. Or for you."

"Not just would, he did."

Peter pulled out his phone. He had to call Jones. If there was anything new he had to know it before he would make the second call. When he put the phone to his ear, he looked Mozzie straight into the eyes and they both shared the same thought. _They wouldn't let Neal down._

"Jones? She did what?" Peter laughed. "Tell her she's great… Meet you there."

Peter laughed again and answered Mozzie's questioning look.

"News from Diana." Peter smiled down at his cell phone.""Thought she'd gone over to the dark side with an et tu, Brute."

"You! You thought the lady suit would actually stab you in front of the crowd?"

Peter scowled, realizing Mozzie couldn't picture Diana doing that, but he had himself. He owed Diana an apology at the very least and a whole lot more. He chose to ignore Mozzie's chiding and continued.

"Turned out she was more like a double agent. She wanted more info on Niemetz."

"The dead guy? Keller's babysitter?"

"Right. Flannigan was following his paper trail."

"Between you and me, this new lady suit… She dangerous for us?"

Peter gave that a though.

"I think she is. She's a very good agent, knows her strengths. But more importantly she knows her own weaknesses. Wouldn't be surprised if she kept an eye on us. Diana knew she wouldn't get any information after turning her back on Flannigan."

Mozzie grinned from one ear to another.

"Good girl. She found something?"

Peter stood up and nodded.

"She did. Niemetz bought an apartment in Brooklyn not even a week ago. Diana asked ATF if they checked it, but they don't have the resources right now, every eye is on Sokolow. Come on."

Mozzie followed the FBI agent out of the room and locked it, via three separate locks and keyed alarm system that Peter hadn't noted on his entry.

"Do we, uh you, have time to check it out. See if there's something down the rabbit hole?"

"That's exactly what we'll do, my friend. That's exactly what _we_ will do."


	12. Taken

Once again, this chapter wouldn't be what it is without **canadianscanget. **Sometimes, this story is just lame, lame, lame and she makes it rock with a few changes. Thank you so much for doing this without getting a whole lot of money out of it! ;-)

And to all my Russian readers - I hope you don't take it personal that I describe your accent the way I do. It makes me sad sometimes that German sounds so harsh compared to other languages, so I understand I might cross a line here, especially when I know how beautiful Russian can be. And if the Russian is completely wrong, please tell me. I know the Google translator is not the perfect solution but sometimes the only option. Thank you!

**Edit**: Thanks to** True Love Lives Forever** I know now that the intention to mistrust Google and its translator was right in every sense of the way. Google - good for finding stuff, bad if you need help with Russian. I apologize for the sloppy research and hope, you haven't been too angry with me. I'm glad I had True Love Lives Forever's help to set things right, thank you very much!

* * *

><p>They didn't even make it out of the building. They had just entered the stairwell, when Neal heard something passing his ear with a whoosh. In the same breath, Gorilla Two wrenched violently to the left, his hand clamped tighter around Neal's biceps, as he stumbled forward. Gravity took hold and the man's falling mass sent them both falling down the stairs. Neal's shoulder slammed into the concrete floor of the second floor landing. He couldn't contain the agonized cry of pain and fought to shake off the darkness that was trying to consume his consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw his former babysitter laying on the floor, his broken eyes starring unfocused in Neal's direction<p>

Neal saw Gorilla One start down the stairs, then his blood spattered onto the wall behind him, his movement momentarily suspended before he collapsed at the top of the stairs. Neal had no idea where Keller was, but he assumed the felon was now looking for a different exit. Everything was dead silent for a heartbeat, then a tall, slender woman strolled up the stairs towards him. Her ash blonde hair was pulled tightly into a long braid that flowed over her right shoulder and followed the contours of her body like a tiger python. Neal's vision blurred as she came closer. He had to drop his eyes. They came to rest on her military boots, which had stopped inches from him. The woman bent down, grabbed his chin and tilted his head back.

"Where is he? Where is Keller?"

She had a slight foreign accent, her tongue was always resting a moment too long on the Rs and taking away every edge of the H, making the words heavy and lumbering. Neal had always had the impression that a Russian accent made English sound tired and worn out. As if he didn't have anything else to think about right now.

"I… uhm, I don…"

He tried to talk, he really did. He knew that the impression of being useless to this woman could seal his fate, right here and now.

"Who are you, handsome? Why did he take you, huh?" She cocked her head, her cold green eyes looked him over carefully. "I guess, we have to find out on our own." She stood and raised her voice. "Пётр, Алексей, оставайтесь на месте! Он может еще быть здесь. Саша, Сергей, идите сюда ко мне!"

Great, German and Russian all in one day. Why couldn't the bad guys speak French or Italian?

Two men joined the woman, who was obviously in charge.

"Get our new guest to the car. And treat him with respect. If he had value for Keller, he might hold value for Misha as well."

The men hauled Neal up. This time the pain and nausea hit him like a train and knocked him out cold.

* * *

><p>When Neal came back around his senses tried to kill him – the sound of traffic was piercing his ears and he blinked rapidly to make the light a little less intense. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was, but when his vision finally cleared, he peered at two new gorillas and he remembered exactly what had befallen the former ones. Damn. And he had thought the day couldn't possibly get any worse. He had the presence of mind to remain still and lax, giving him the time to assess his surroundings and captors. One of the gorillas was sitting right next to him, the other one was driving shotgun. The car looked expensive, customized leather seats and the amount of space you don't get with middle class SUV's.<p>

The woman was driving, talking to someone over a headset. Russian again. Neal could have sworn that, _what the hell he'd name her,__ Mrs. Boondockers,_ had called four people to her earlier… Alexej, Pjotr, Sergej and Sasha. Only two of them were with him in the car. If Neal had to guess, he'd say that the other two were still searching for Keller as his… ex-hostage taker – wasn't with them. And as stupid as it was, Neal already missed him. He felt the fever wearing on him again and the pain in his shoulder was steadily becoming an intolerable throbbing mass. Keller's morphine sounded like heaven to Neal, but he doubted his new captors just happened to have some handy. So, he opted to follow through on his latest plan – distract the bad guys, call the good ones. Go team!

He cleared his throat and moaned to get everybody's attention. The man next to him laughed and turned to him, then slapped Neal's cheek. He could have lived without that but as long as it served a purpose…

"Look, who's back from the dead… Irina, the pussy's awake."

The woman glanced back at Neal in the rear view mirror, murmured something under her breath and hung up her phone.

"Hello, handsome… How are you?"

"Well… thank you, but… uhm, I'm kinda… y'know… disappointed. You bein' Russian an'all… Thought I'd get… at least a… welcome drink."

Irina laughed and it reminded Neal of an alarm bell in old European films. It was shrill and cold, but Neal could tell from the look in her eyes that she wasn't only pretending to be amused. She really thought it was funny.

"What is it with you con man?" She grinned when she saw his startled expression in the mirror. "That's right, I know who you are, Mr. Caffrey. I did my homework. But even if I haven't, I can smell your kind. How you walk, talk, how you dress yourself… Do you all think you're figures from a Hopper painting, walking around in suits, all hat and no cattle… Adorable… Kind of."

Neal prayed the Russians hadn't searched him, that he'd be lucky and they'd assume Keller had already stripped him of anything useful or dangerous. Neal worked a hand into the back pocket of his pants. His fingers found the item he was looking for, Gorilla Two's cell phone. He continued to move cautiously, to distract the Russians, to shut out the pain that threaten to overwhelm him. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes now.

"So… no vodka, huh?"

Finding the right keys was a challenge, especially as his good arm was pressed under him and into his ribs. He was finding it increasingly hard to breath and it wouldn't have surprised Neal if his ribs were broken, or at least cheated. It took all his concentration to listen to Irina and follow the conversation, while carefully keying in Peter's number.

"I like your cocky attitude, but you really should start watching your mouth. Misha is not very fond of people like you."

"People… like me? What…?"

"Keller was planning to get his hands on you for a long time. You're a forger, and a very talented one. Misha doesn't like forgers. He says you are spitting on the legacy of great minds."

"Au contraire… We… ah, forget it… Why should I, even care…hm?"

Neal pressed the talk key on the cell phone, counted to ten, pressed end, counted to ten again, and pushed the recall button.

"Because you don't want to make the Falcon angry, handsome. I fear you wouldn't survive it."

"The Falcon? This Misha... is the Falcon?"

Irina looked over her shoulder for a short moment and smiled.

"Are you afraid, Mr. Caffrey?"

"Nah… Had worse… lately."

Neal pressed resend on the cell phone again and again. He prayed that Peter would get it. Saving El was one thing, but taking the Falcon on was something completely different. Neal wasn't sure he could survive this acquaintance.

"Ah, I don't think you have, you know, they call me the dentist."

Neal had to stifle his sudden desire to laugh. She didn't look like a dentist at all. Or at least she didn't look like the dentist he knew.

"Yes I know, sounds funny, but… you know, in medieval ages dentists were respected as well as feared. Pulling out teeth without any anesthesia is most unpleasant. And with nice healthy teeth, like yours, the pain is unbearable. Sometimes the shock alone can kill you."

Neal didn't like where this was going.

"Why're you tellin'… me all this?"

Irina pulled into a parking lot and killed the engine. She laughed as she clambered into the back with Neal. She sat on top of him, causing his ribs and shoulder to scream. She knew that, but it didn't seem to bother her and she made it worse by leaning forward to brush several strands of hair from his face. Neal could smell her perfume, a heavy mix of jasmine, roses, sandalwood, patchouli, bergamots and musk – Chanel N° 5. Neal had a strong urge to push as far back into the seat as he could, when Irina breathed into his ear, and with a slightly amused and also aroused undertone, whispered to him,

"We know that Keller wanted to get to you. What we don't know is why. He wanted you to forge something for him? Or was it something else?"

She drew back so she could stare directly into Neal's eyes. Those icy emeralds were looking straight into him. He was unable to avert his eyes, mesmerized like a snakes prey. Her lips parted slightly and she held the smirk her mouth seemed always ready to raise. "You can tell me, handsome, right? And you will. Because I don't think you want me to destroy that smile of yours. It would be such a shame."

Neal wasn't even surprised when she leaned against him, covering his mouth with a kiss. Neal struggled to hold the tears back that welled in his eyes from the pain, exhaustion and primal fear for his life. This wasn't going to end well for him. He redialed Peter again, desperately clinging to the hope that he would find him before _Mrs. Boondockers_ fulfilled her calling as the 21st Century's Marquess de Sade.

Irina moved back, but she never took her eyes off of him. She told her men something Neal didn't understand. When they grinned and yanked him out of the car, Neal knew Peter wouldn't make it in time, Irina was ready to begin her treatment. And he knew, with a lethal certainty, that she wouldn't stop because of the truth. Neal cursed himself when he became aware of the irony that lay in this goddamn situation. All this time Neal had conned and prevaricated, truth had never been more than a huge playground for him. And now that his life seemed to depended on being honest and that he was more than willing to be tell the truth, it wasn't going to do him a bit of good. No one would believe in a Nazi treasure. This was it. He was as good as dead.


	13. Calling

a/n: And it seems as if I have a second beta now. Thanks to **liebedero **not only for reading through this, but also for a very nice conversation about music.

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><p>Mozzie hadn't spoken a word about it, and at first, Peter hadn't been willing to ask. He'd find out sooner or later, that's what he'd been telling himself. But now they were stuck in traffic and there was only one thing distracting Peter from the images in his head of Neal badly injured or already dead. Curiosity. Since El had given her statement, the curiosity had slowly built.<p>

"So, he didn't tell you? 'Bout the painting? The Mona Lisa?" Even when Peter tried to make eye contact with him, Mozzie continued to stare straight ahead. The fact that he blinked more often was the only sign that he had heard Peter's question. "Mozzie? Did he tell you?"

"No. No, he didn't. But that's okay. Our job is like a romantic adventure sometimes. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Only the undertone in Mozzie's words gave away that he was miffed.

"You're mad at him, because he didn't tell you, right?"

At first, the other man didn't seem to answer, but suddenly he ran off at the mouth.

"How could he NOT tell me something like that? I mean, I know, we both have our secrets, but THIS? This is HUGE!"

Peter let out a laugh.

"Oh come on, as if you didn't know he had it."

Mozzie looked over to him and blushed.

"What makes you say that?"

"You didn't react. When I told you about Neal handing the painting over to Keller – you didn't react."

"Huh… I assumed it. La Gioconda is a big deal. Everyone dreams about her, like every archeologist dreams about Troy. But whenever I came up with another ridiculous plan to steal her – just for fun, you know, you couldn't steal from the Louvre, not ever – uhm, anyways, Neal never played along. He just smiled and told me to get my head out of the clouds. It wasn't like him… Not at all." Mozzie dropped his gaze, playing with his own fingers. "So, I guess, I assumed he knew more than he told me. But believe me, the next time I see him, he'll explain it to me. I want the whole story, absolutely everything."

They both went silent, when they realized there may not be a next time for getting anything out of Neal. The thoughts and images of Neal injured and dying started to flood into Peter's mind once again, only this time he had no distractions to ease them until they reached their destination.

* * *

><p>Diana smirked at Peter, as he got out of the car.<p>

"You thought I turned on you, didn't you?"

Peter nodded sheepishly.

"I... did. I'm sorry. You did a great job, I shouldn't have doubted you. We're good?"

"Sure. I had to do this. Flannigan isn't a bad person, you know? She's just… obsessed with this case."

Peter frowned and looked over to the old building ahead of them.

"Not obsessed enough to follow all the leads she has."

It was hard for Peter to lower his own expectations. If this turned out to be a dead-end he would have to start all over again. Without any clues or leads on Neal's whereabouts. He wanted to get this over with. He nodded at his team and at Mozzie, who had insisted on going with them. They were ready to head into the building, when Peter's phone rang. He didn't recognize the number and was certain it was another part of Keller's game. Peter couldn't shake an unsettling feeling when the line went dead after a few seconds. Jones' frown told Peter his agent felt the same way.

"Who was that?"

"No idea… There wasn't any…" He was interrupted by another call. "Burke. Who is this?"

Peter tried to listen carefully, but all he heard were muffled voices in the background. The line went dead again and Peter cursed. Some idiot unable to activate his key lock was the last thing he needed right now. The phone rang again and Peter decided to simply mute his cell.

"Alright, Diana and Jones, you take the back way. Mozzie, you come with me. Stay behind me. Everybody be careful. If Keller really is in there, we draw back and call for backup. Questions?"

All four of them were focused on what lay ahead of them. Peter nodded one more time to reassure them, maybe to reassure himself, before they entered the building. It didn't take Mozzie more than a moment to pick the lock of the front door and suddenly Peter was happy for having the little guy with him. Mozzie stepped back and let Peter move in cautiously . Peter's heart sank when he surveyed the scene in front of him.

The stairwell was a mess. Blood covered the floor, the walls, and the two dead men in front of Peter. He didn't know the man closest to him, but recognized the other one from the tape of the van – not the kind of guy that was inferior in any kind of fight. Their faces and hands didn't show any signs of a struggle. Nothing, but two neat holes in both of their heads. Peter cursed. Someone had surprised them. He tried to get upstairs without destroying any evidence. Peter's stomach turned into a knot when he realized some of the blood had already been smeared. Not the kind of prints that were left by shoes. Something or _someone _had been dragged away.

Peter turned around to Mozzie and found him staring at the blood in front of his feet.

"Hey, you don't have to see this. Why don't you wait at the car?"

It took the other man longer to react than it should.

"Uh… I'm okay. Let's just check out the rest of the place."

Peter headed on and cautiously opened the door at the end of the stairs. He found the room empty except for his colleagues. Jones put away his weapon when he saw Peter.

"We're all clear. Nobody's here, but the place was turned upside down."

A quick look around showed Peter exactly what Jones meant. There wasn't exactly a lot of furniture in the room, but a heavy wooden table was overturned and the chair that lay next to it had been broken several times. Every drawer in the room had obviously been opened and searched.

"There's another room, boss." Something about Diana's voice gave Peter shivers. "Nothing in it, but a desk and a chair… But… we found blood on the chair. Looks to be from someone sitting in it. Maybe Neal?"

Peter rubbed his temples. It just kept getting worse.

"There are two bodies in the stairwell. Keller's men. I don't think it was him, who did this. Get a forensics team in here as soon as possible. Maybe they'll find something."

He pulled out his own phone to call Hughes. Peter wasn't in the right mood to talk to Flannigan right now, but the least he could do was update his own superior. He frowned when he saw over twenty missed calls on his phone, and all from the same number. He got the irrepressible suspicion that he had made a mistake by pushing the previous calls aside. The cell rang again and he gave the others a sign to be quiet. Then he picked up and listened carefully to the sounds in the background.

"Damn it…" Peter started to pace around, his shoulders tense, his nerves heightened. Whatever he did, he always seemed to be one step behind. From the beginning, Neal had thrown him one clue after another, and for whatever reasons - a kidnapped loved one and a partner, _friend_, in dangerous, lethal hands - he'd been too slow to catch them. "Diana, who's that agent with the tracking device?"

"Agent Rodgers. Why? Everything alright?"

Peter looked down at the cell phone that rang insistently.

"I need him. I think Neal's calling me."

Mozzie was at his side in an instant.

"What? Did he say something?"

Peter only managed to shake his head, afraid of the question that was about to follow.

"Then how do you know it was him?"

Mozzie was staring at him, but Peter was unable to bear the look. He dropped his gaze.

"Because…" Peter sighed. He didn't know if it was good for Mozzie, but he probably had a right to know. "Because I heard him screaming."


	14. Sacrilege

a/n: I think I had to change the ratings on this one because of Irina and her little obsession. It won't get very explicit, but I felt uncomfortable writing it, so I guess you could feel the same way reading it. Sorry for that, I never wanted to go down that road, I obviously did. If some violence isn't your thing, don't read. But it won't get too hardcore, I promise.

What else? Thanks again to **canadianscanget **who did such a good job on this chapter, I have no idea how to repay her. Plus, she likes my name. It's nice when someone likes your name… Also thanks to **liebedero**, who also read through this chapter - all mistakes are still mine, but I'm glad you found some of them.

And just because I have to say this – I didn't like **Texas Chainsaw Massacre The Beginning**. There was only one – and fairly obvious – reason to watch this movie, but it wasn't enough to make me feel less sick. There are **SPOILERS** for the movie in this chapter. If you don't want to hear it, don't read after the last divide bar and you'll be fine and won't miss anything important.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own White Collar, the Mona Lisa, or any of the films I referred to. But I own Irina. That scares me a little bit.

Enjoy and review!

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><p>Neal's mind had ceased to function in any useful manner, but he had managed to maintain a tentative grip on consciousness. The metallic taste in his mouth mixed with bile nauseated him, and only sheer exhaustion kept him from retching violently. Deep down he knew that he was supposed to do something... right now… something specific with his… with his hands? But he couldn't feel them, couldn't feel anything but a universe of pain, which expanded with every beat of his heart. A constant blinding pain that kept him from finding his way back into a familiar world.<p>

After what felt like an eternity, something cold touched Neal's cheek, then jaw, and dulled the pain into something that hinted at being sufferable.

"I told you, handsome. It's almost unbearable… But you did good, considering your current condition. You're strong."

When he heard her soft voice, Neal tried to open his eyes. He squeezed them shut, when white flashes started to dance in front of him. Talking was off the table as well, breathing alone was already difficult enough. The only thing he couldn't shut out was the crazy Russian bitch rambling on at him.

"Oh, you're mad at me, right? Don't worry. The ice will cool it down, it'll get better soon. And I did you a favor, you know? Your smile is as brilliant as always. It was just… a molar. Very tough fellow, though…"

Neal felt something on his mouth, opening his lips… hot, stinging. She was kissing him again. She dared to kiss him again. And it hurt, hurt him so much. He let out a muffled groan. The woman didn't draw back, instead she pressed further into him. The taste of blood on his tongue didn't seem to bother her, she enjoyed it, enjoyed this whole goddamn situation. When she finally let go of him, the only thing that Neal heard was the shrill ringing of an alarm bell, her laughter in his ears. The cold that had eased his pain vanished, replaced by heat and the throbbing ache of his reality. He finally gave in to the darkness.

* * *

><p>The moment Neal's eyes fluttered open, he immediately hated the reality of being awake. His surroundings were once again unfamiliar. Irina had taken him to a warehouse for her <em>treatment<em>, but now it appeared he was in the basement of a building under construction. There were several tool trolleys and building material was stowed away in the far corner. Protective sheets were covering the skylights, letting in just enough daylight to see, but it was already getting dark and Neal expected night to settle in fast. It was time to face the truth, nobody was coming to his rescue. Besides how would they even know where he was? Chances were high he had dialed the wrong number, otherwise they would have found him by now. _Peter_would have found him by now. Neal tried to grab hold of the cell in his pocket, but his hands were shaking and his fingers numb. He was lost.

Neal desperately wanted the unyielding sensations racking his existence to end - from searing heat, to numb extremities, to the excruciating physical torment of his jaw and shoulder. He tired to control his breathing, to the quell the shudders and tremors. He tried to dive through all the pain, hoping to find something comforting to cling too. Instead his thoughts spun haplessly out of control, only to be refocused by the pain cruelly beckoning him back into its grip. When he wasn't able to think of anything else to distract him from the outcries of his own body, he started to count seconds again. Seven hundred eighty-six seconds before the darkness mercifully claimed him again.

* * *

><p>Cold water and harsh light brought Neal abruptly awake. He gasped for air, immediately regretting it as his jaw screamed in anguished protest. Neal hated it. He hated to feel this way, hated to be treated this way. Why couldn't they just kill him and get it over with?<p>

"Mr. Caffrey… It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I… brought a friend of ours. We ran into him on the street. Now, isn't that a pleasant surprise?"

Neal looked up, blinking against the ceiling lighting, to find a middle-aged man standing directly in front of him. He looked bored, maybe even a little bit annoyed, as if this was beneath him, undignified and messy. His perfectly tailored suit was more appropriate for a thousand dollar a plate dinner with some senator than a torture scene in a basement. The man stepped aside and Neal caught sight of Keller, bound and gagged, in a chair across from him. Irina stood next to him, casually holding a dental forceps in her hand. She gave Neal an unnerving, gentle smile. Then Keller locked eyes with him for a fleeting beat of his heart, before the man in the suit stepped between them again. The man loomed over Neal, then brought his face a mere inch from Neal's. His breath warm and rich, it somehow vaguely remind Neal of all the wealthy things he'd lusted after in life.

"My name is Misha. I assume you know who I am since you've already had the pleasure of meeting my sister. She told me you were special… But I can't see anything extraordinary about you. Tell me, what is it that makes you so interesting… for Irina? For our dear Matthew?"

Neal got that this wasn't a rhetorical question, but he couldn't find the strength to answer. Misha – _the Falcon himself_– turned to his sister and asked her for water. She silently walked to one of the tool trolleys. Neal saw that she had her dental instruments laid out on it, along with several bottles of water, towels and hand sanitizer, nothing like being a conscientious professional. Irina strolled over to Neal, she grabbed his chin and let water flow into his mouth. Neal almost choked on it, but he didn't really care; the cool liquid soothed his parched throat. Irina let him swallow a few mouthfuls before she stepped back. Sokolow had moved to lean against Keller's chair.

"What does Matthew want from you, Caffrey?"

Neal didn't have a reason to lie.

"A… treasure. Big…. A big… treasure."

Sokolow lifted his eyebrows.

"So you two expect me to believe this cock-and-bull story?"

"S'the truth…"

The Falcon let out a cold laugh and quickly crossed the room, picking something up that was leaning against the wall. When he came back, Neal saw that it was La Gioconda.

"So this has nothing to do with it? Huh?" Sokolow picked up a knife from Irina's trolley and held it against Neal's throat. "How dare you? How dare you, you filthy little bastard, forge her smile?"

In one quick move Sokolow drove his knife through the thin poplar panel. Neal cried out with all the strength he had left. Something in Neal broke, when he saw the cut in the exquisitely painted face. This was more than just a crime, it was a sacrilege. He couldn't stop staring at the masterpiece, violated and destroyed. And it was his fault.

Sokolow turned to Keller and removed his gag.

"I wonder, can you still remember when we first met?"

Keller seemed to be as shocked about the destroyed painting as Neal but he still answered.

"Moscow… You wanted me to… get you a Russian icon."

"And you got me what I wanted. That's what I liked about you, Matthew. You were… reliable. And, a great chess player." Sokolow turned toward Neal, while maintaining eye contact with Keller. "Mr. Caffrey, did you know our friend tends to begin a game with black?" Neal was still too distracted to find an answer, but Sokolow didn't seem to be interested in receiving one anyway. His attention was on Keller. "Can you remember what I told you when we started our first game after the job in Russia? About moving a black pawn instead of a white one?"

Keller cleared his throat but he couldn't conceal that his face had lost all its color.

"You told me that… that I should only begin with black, if… if I was sure to win."

"The game clock is on, Matthew. Are you sure you can win?"

Keller was panicking now.

"I can… Please. Just, let me go… I'll… Caffrey – He's a consultant. For… for the FBI. They'll pay ransom. Just… Let me tell them I have'im."

Sokolow frowned.

"Let me see. I have Caffrey. I don't need you to get me ransom money. You're obsolete."

"No, you stay clean… No blood on your hands, whatever…. Whatever the outcome of this story… Just… let me handle this!"

Sokolow slowly walked over to Neal, looking him over carefully.

"You have until midnight, Keller. Irina's going to play with her little puppy until you come back. Don't try to run from me again. Ever. There will be no discussions, no bargains, you will die a miserable slow death, alone and forgotten in some filthy gutter. Now go. Get me my money."

Irina released Keller, who wanted to leave the building immediately, but Sokolow called him back again.

"Matthew! Take that painting with you. It's an offense to my eyes."

Keller stumbled back, picking up the Mona Lisa. He gave Neal a look that might have meant to reassure the conman. It didn't. Keller left without another word and both Irina and her brother focused on Neal again.

* * *

><p>"Now, I still don't an answer to my question. Tell me, little sister… What is it that makes him so interesting?"<p>

Irina laughed with the purring sound of a cat in heat.

"I have a thing for American slasher movies."

Sokolow chuckled and looked at his sibling, somehow surprised by that answer. For the first time his eyes were warm.

"Excuse me?"

"You know… The Hills Have Eyes, Hostel and for some reasons Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Handsome here looks just like this freakishly hot guy from the prequel movie."

Neal couldn't help it, he wasn't able to bite tongue.

"Does he… y'know… survive?"

Irina shook her head. She walked over to him and ran her fingers roughly through his hair.

"No, my dear. He dies the hero he always wanted to be."


	15. White Knight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own White Collar. And I don't own the song "God's Away On Business" by Tom Waits. You should listen to it. It's like carnival in Venice, Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Occupy Wall Street and digging your own grave. All at the same time. And as if this wasn't good enough, it fits Peter's mood… The car in this chapter is authentic. I individualized it on the real website of Audi, the special features and the amount of money you'd have to spend are real. I wish, Audi would pay me for product placement, but they don't.

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><p><em>There's a leak, there's a leak in the boiler room<br>The poor, the lame, the blind  
>Who are the ones that we kept in charge?<br>Killers, thieves and lawyers_

_God's away, God's away_  
><em>God's away on business, business<em>  
><em>God's away, God's away on business, business<em>

_Goddamn there's always such a big temptation_  
><em>To be good, to be good<em>  
><em>There's always free cheddar in a mousetrap, baby<em>  
><em>It's a deal, it's a deal<em>

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><p>"Are you kidding me?" Peter looked at Flannigan, who sat in front of him in his office, her arms crossed. She looked like a school girl on detention. Peter did a good job in playing the angry teacher. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!"<p>

Flannigan licked her lips, then sighed.

"Oh, come on, Peter. You're not the only one who's in deep shit right now… I lost my suspect, you have any idea what that looks like?"

Peter was beyond the politeness that was usually part of his personality.

"Looks to me, that you're as incompetent as I thought. I told you… I TOLD YOU! WATCH his surroundings. I wonder how many times he went out for a killing trip without you even noticing it."

Flannigan stood. She didn't try to conceal her anger.

"Sokolow's NEVER done that before. It's not his style."

"Well, obviously, it is!"

Flannigan leaned over the table, intruding slight into Peter's personal space, quietly challenging him. Peter didn't like her attitude - the hint of arrogance, the contemptuous twist of her mouth. Actually, Peter didn't like her. Period. And he was quickly losing any respect for her work.

"It's not obvious! Sokolow drives a pearl effect derbygreen Audi Q7 V12 TDI quattro tiptronic, engine tuned, with titanium optic light alloy wheels; privacy glazing for the rear windows; cognac brown and black sports seats in fine Nappa leather; black, piano laquer inlays; a multifunction-three-spoke steering wheel with switch function; and a Band & Olufson Advanced Sound System with a rear seat entertainment package. It cost him $228,000 US plus $20,000 for the shipment from Germany, 'cause the car isn't available here the way he wanted it. He doesn't have a driver, because he LOVES that friggin' car. Don't you tell me, I'm incompetent, Peter. I know Sokolow better than I know my own husband. And this is the FIRST time he gave the keys to his Audi to someone else. You would have followed his car as well and you know it!"

Peter sat down and rested his forehead on his hand, rubbing his eyes with it. A few hours ago he had been close, ever so close. Instead he had helplessly clutched his cell phone to his ear listening to Neal's tortured screams. The hollow emptiness of the silence that followed was almost unbearable for Peter. Neal had hung up each time, over and over, that fact that he was now unable to do so crushed Peter. Peter had shaken the ache from his mind - he drove it down into his soul and allowed it to fuel his resolve to find Neal.

Diana had quickly managed to get Rodgers. The young man had been so close in tracing the signal of the phone, when it suddenly disconnected. Peter had considered calling the cell, but was fearful it may give Neal away. Anyway, they didn't necessarily need an open line to trace a cell. Peter had been sure they would find Neal's location without any problems. His heart had skipped and nearly stopped when Rodgers' equipment had held a trace for all of six seconds on the cell itself, then it too ceased. Rodgers had been working on tracking down the signal since then, so far without any success. Wherever Neal was, he no longer had a signal.

And now, Flannigan was telling Peter she had lost the only other lead left. _The Falcon had left his nest. _Peter had no intention of giving up. He also had no idea of what to do next. He was lost.

Peter was about to dismiss Flannigan when his phone rang. Hoping to hear from Neal, the agent didn't even look at the caller's ID.

"Hello?"

The line was silent for a moment. Then a tense voice answered.

"Burke… It's Keller. We have to talk."

* * *

><p>Peter had brought Mozzie with him. Not only because Neal's friend was still in possession of the treasure Keller wanted, but also because there was a very small whisper in the back of Peter's head that the little guy could help him cover up any evidence if he lost his temper with Keller. Not that he ever would do something… like that… of course. Just to be sure…<p>

Keller was sitting in the small restaurant, trying desperately to look casual. Peter frowned when he saw the man's bruised lips. He wondered on how many toes Keller had stepped to get him to this point. He quickly moved to Keller's table and sat down.

"You wanted to talk. Talk!"

Keller glanced at him, then at Mozzie.

"I told you to come alone."

"And I decided otherwise. Talk. Now."

Keller glared at both of them again, as though he was considering blowing this whole thing off. He remained.

"Do you know Misha Sokolow?"

Peter's jaw was clenched.

"Russian mafia. He has Neal, we already know that. What do you want?"

For the first time Keller seemed to lose his confidence.

"Sokolow doesn't like getting his hands dirty. He's using Caffrey as ransom. Sokolow didn't believe in the Nazi treasure, but obviously he believes in the FBI taking care of their people. He thinks you'll pay to get him back."

"Why doesn't he negotiate with us personally? Why didn't he just kill you?"

Keller rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, you know the answer. You have nothing on Sokolow that his lawyers couldn't turn into thin air. He doesn't want to get his hands bloody from your little CI. Besides, Sokolow is a business man, he doesn't just hold someone for ransom. Nobody would work with him again. The mafia is built on contacts, on family. Sokolow trades. Decently. Well… as far as you can call dealing with drugs and weapons decent. That would also answer your question as to why I'm still alive. Three million dollars isn't very much for Sokolow's organization, but if you owe him a dollar, you pay him two back, that's the deal. If he pays you to get him something tomorrow, you've better already gotten it yesterday. Anyway, I kind of… tricked him. If he just killed me it wouldn't satisfy his hubris. This way, he gets what he wants - I have to make contact with the FBI, he will get his money and he can't be held responsible for anything because you'll have nothing more than the testimony of two con men – at best. Unless of course, Sokolow's sweet little sister keeps playing dentist with your pet."

Peter tried to ignore Keller's allusion that there was a strong possibility that Neal wouldn't survive to testify against anybody. The agent tried to focus on the here and now. If they did this the FBI-way, Flannigan would set up a trap. Sokolow would smell it and Neal would be as good as dead. Peter hated to admit it, but he'd likely reached a point where the only option was to step into Neal and Mozzie's realm to save Neal.

"How much time we have?"

Keller checked his watch.

"Little bit more than four hours."

Peter turned his attention to Mozzie.

"Mozzie, let's say you had a Nazi treasure… Would you be able to sell something within… let's say… two and a half hours?"

Mozzie gave him a serious look.

"IF I had something like that, the paintings would be hot. Very hot. But I'd go with a Matisse… His admirers are somewhat… determined when it comes to his paintings. Sotheby's would probably get over twenty million but with the fee for a good intermediary and the short time to seal a deal, I could get four to five million. I would go for that."

Peter nodded.

"You should go now. I think you have work to do."

Mozzie stood up and offered Keller his hand.

"Mr. Keller… I know you think I'm an idiot, I get that. But as far as I know, you never underestimate the power of money. I will get you what you need to bring Neal back. If, however, _you_fail, Sokolow won't be your worst problem."

Mozzie strode away with an unusual air of strength. For Peter the whole scene was drastically out of character. He knew how serious Mozzie was about this, but it still didn't fit Neal's friend to openly threaten somebody. Peter couldn't blame him, though. Really everyone was out of character: Jones had been cranky the whole day; while Diana had worked in silence, technically the whole time; El still couldn't sleep and tears were tumbling down her cheeks every time Neal's name was mentioned; and now Mozzie had wantonly threatened a man he feared. And Peter? He himself was willing to follow any path necessary to affect Neal's rescue, roads he never thought he'd go down - he was working with _Keller_, of all people. Keller.

"Do you know where they are holding him?"

Keller shook his head.

"No. One of Sokolow's bodyguards dropped me in Manhattan. He used a blindfold. I'm supposed to contact him as soon as I have the money. Guaranteed, he'll have eyes on me."

Peter scowled at the thought of that. The last hours had taught him to be careful with such a big word as hope.

"Which car did he use?"

"What?"

"The car… Which car did they take to get you here."

Keller thought about it for a second.

"A Volkswagen. An SUV."

"Luxurious?"

Keller obviously didn't know where Peter was going with this.

"I guess so… Why?"

"Because that's not the type of car you buy for your bodyguards. On the other hand…"

Keller's face lit up when he caught Peter's thoughts.

"…It's the type of car you'd buy for your sister… The plate number is XLR8. Kind of cheesy, I thought she'd be more creative…"

Keller smiled at him and he returned the favor. Peter was aware of how precarious their situation was, but he couldn't help it.

"Okay, I'm on it. If we can find the SUV, we'll have an extra edge…"

"You know that Sokolow will be gone if you raise any suspicion, right?"

The agent was all too aware.

"I know, that's why we'll lay low until you're in there, we stick to the plan Sokolow has in mind. The only difference is that I'll have time to get agents in position. He won't be able to escape."

Nor would Keller, who had obviously come to the same conclusion, as he started to shift uneasily on his chair.

"Look, Burke… I know I can't get out of this. Too many people would be after me. I want a deal. Sokolow has eyes and ears, and very willing hands, in every prison. I prefer not have those hands around my neck. You have to guarantee me protection."

When Peter agreed, he meant it. Peter knew that blind vengeance wouldn't do him any good. Some part of him wanted Keller dead for what he had done to El, but it wasn't the part he'd allow to surface.

The two strange allies shook hands as they left the restaurant. If Sokolow's men were watching Keller, the Falcon would know his fly-by-night was in contact with the FBI. Peter stopped and turned back to Keller. He needed to make something clear that had nagged on him.

"Listen, Keller… The riddle you prepared for Neal…"

Keller gave Peter a smirk.

"Ah… You found that. It was fun…"

"The riddle's wrong. About the pawn. When it says that nobody cares if he ends up dead. It's not true."

Keller looked surprised.

"Now, look at that… A king willing taking up the cudgels for the weakest link in the chain."

Peter knew he was supposed to be angry, but all he felt was a strange heaviness on his heart.

"You of all people should know that a pawn can change into almost every other piece."

Now Keller snorted.

"What, now you're going to lecture me on my own game?" Keller snorted. "Tell me, what would you turn our dear Caffrey into? The white knight? Does that sound like Caffrey to you? But hey… maybe you're right. Maybe you can make a knight out of your pawn. But only if it reaches the opposite side of the board. And it rarely does, Burky. It rarely does."


	16. Home

a/n: This chapter was bad. Like _really bad_. I tried to get my thoughts down and I failed like only ambitious writers can fail. My betas **liebedero** and **canadianscanget** tried their best, but it was still a mess until I had finished the following two chapters and CCG finally took her knowledge of what I want to get and the lost words I've never found for the chapter you're going to read and created _this_. Almost every good line in here is not written by me, seriously, but by this extremely helpful Canadian I was gladly able to get to know because of this story. It's a shame that I couldn't provide this for you on my own, but I had the greatest help I could ask for, so G, thank you so, SO much.

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><p>They had left him alone, which was a good thing. No more games, no more pain. He would never have been able to bear it anyway. The bullet in his shoulder reminded him from time to time that he was still alive.<p>

They had left him alone, which was a bad thing. He was on his own, with nothing but his own thoughts. He had never coped well with it. Fear. It had been part of the risk and risk part of the craving for life itself. The tremors that ran through his body reminded him from time to time that he would probably die.

Neal enjoyed the solitude and hated the loneliness each minute offered him.

_Would he have __still played__ the game if he knew what the risks were? _Yes. There had been a reason why he hadn't joined Mozzie. There had been a reason he had contacted Keller.

_Would he still have brought La Gioconda into the game? _Maybe. Yes. El was worth more than the Mona Lisa. Far more than any painting in this goddamn world. Her smile was one of a kind.

_Should he have told Peter about everything? _Yes. He would have told him everything.

Night had fallen. The plastic shrouded skylights offered a muted glow from nearby lights. Neal's head remained downcast, as light footsteps approached. The moment a warm hand touched his cheek, he knew precisely who it belonged to. Two fingers gently raised his chin and he met Irina's green eyes. _Sad green eyes._

"I came to say goodbye, handsome. Keller is about to bring Misha his money. Misha wants me out of the way. I… I don't think we'll meet again. Too bad we didn't meet under different circumstances. You… _are_ a brave man, Neal Caffrey. I like that." She smiled, then frowned. "I'm sorry. I wish you good luck."

Irina softly kissed his cheek. She paused and sought his eyes for one more sorrowful glance and disappeared into the gloom of the building. Neal was alone again and found his despise for Sokolow's sister waning. Aside from her sadistic fascination with yanking people's teeth out, she seemed vulnerable, almost childlike in her desire to please her brother. Neal chuckled when he heard Mozzie's voice ringing in his ear. _'Are you even listening to yourself? Stockholm syndrome, Neal. Stockholm syndrome!'_

It took Neal awhile to process what Irina had told him.

_Had Keller really been able to get Sokolow his money?_

Neal tried not to nurture any illusions. He was far too afraid the Russian mobster would think of him as… what word had he used? …_Obsolete__._ Neal knew that he wasn't important to Keller, he was just leverage to get money out of Mozzie or the FBI. Sokolow knew too. Once the ransom was paid and the debt cleared, there was no reason for either Keller or Sokolow to keep Neal alive. Neal's only hope was that Sokolow had no strong need to kill him. Getting rid of evidence was as annoying for a godfather, as paperwork was for a federal agent. Neal wasn't a real threat to the Falcon. It was Keller who had shot him and it was technically Irina who had held him hostage. Neal knew Sokolow would have lawyers, who could twist reality and keep their boss free.

And maybe, even if Neal didn't really dare to hope, Keller would bring the FBI with him. Special Ops, snipers, rams, the whole damn cavalry. Maybe Peter was aware of the situation, maybe he'd watch out for him. That was one of the reasons he had stayed; people Neal could rely on. But Neal had to admit that Peter wasn't the only reason that had kept him from following Mozzie out the door.

Neal wouldn't have liked it in Greece. The right place for Mozzie? Yes. For him? Not so much. Too much _laissez faire_, too little _savoir vivre_. Paris possibly would have been a good place for him, maybe even better than Rome. Vienna's melancholy would have been appealing from time to time, just like the young rhythm of Berlin. Europe could have offered him a life with a thousand different faces, but none of them like the one New York showed him every day. Mozzie hadn't understood that it wasn't just about Peter. It wasn't just about a place to settle down. It was about the vibrancy that had filled Neal's days. It had been a feeling like stepping into sunlight. Getting seen. Changing the world. Neal wouldn't have liked it in Greece.

Neal heard the approach of footsteps again, these fell hard though, with a determined finality to them. One of Sokolow bodyguards gagged him and checked the restraints on the chair he was bound too.

"The Falcon will be here soon. Behave."

The man left almost as quickly as he had arrived. He had turned out the one bare light bulb that hung forlorn at the far end of the room, leaving Neal with nothing but the hollow emptiness of his own ragged breath and dark gray shadows from the dulled skylights. Neal's jaw started to throb, where Irina had pulled his tooth. Neal pressed his tongue between the hole and the gag.

_Damn, he hated this feeling._

Time passed. Neal was thirsty and tired. Sweat beaded across his forehead, soaked through his shirt, matted his hair, but worst of all, managed to snake down his face until it stung his eyes. He tried to hang onto his rambling, fever driven thoughts.

_Paris? Greece? What was in Greece? Mozzie was in... . No, New York. He wanted to, needed to be in New York. Why did he need to be in New York? Peter. He was running from Peter. No. No, Peter was his...his friend. _

Time passed. Neal was alone. He knew he was still alive, the bullet in his shoulder was not about to let him forget that fact. His pulse was thready, his skin clammy, he fought to concentrate on each breath... only. Only he couldn't. Each intake of breath racked his shoulder with pain. Each exhale brought a wave of nausea with the throbbing of his tooth.

Neal shivered. _Why? He was so Goddamn hot. The Sun. Only it was dark. Night? Why was he in the shadows? He was waiting for someone. They were taking their sweet time. Didn't anyone care that he had things to do? Important things like...like... Oh, yes. Trembling. Shivering. The reminders, that the most important, the most likely thing he had to do, was dying._

Time passed. Not the time that seems to be endless, when really only a few minutes have passed, but the long, exhausting time that aches into your bones, until even sleep itself holds an agonizing edge.

Sokolow was a long time coming. He arrived in a new suit, as classy and neat as the one before.

_That was unfair. It was a ransom exchange and __the __guy had the nerve to come in a completely new attire._

If life was fair Neal would have been standing under a shower right now. Steam would be swirling around him, he'd melt into the water, as his body relaxed and calmed, and the weight of the day lifted. The only thing he'd have to think about was, what he was going to slip into afterwards.

_Hm__, a__ nice, steaming hot__ shower. __ No. Cold. He needed cold._

Keller arrived shortly after the Falcon. Two bodyguards flanked him. They spoke quietly, barely whispered words. Or maybe they were just out of earshot. Or maybe the strange whooshing sound in his ears, of the blood trying to push through his arteries to his starving brain cells, was deafening him.

_Strange. Why meet here, now, in front of him? As if__ Keller __needed proof of life. Yeah, right. Like Keller gave a damn. But … No... Oh, maybe. No. ..._

"I'm glad you made it, Matthew. As you can see, Mr. Caffrey is still with us. Now, do you have my money?"

_Yep. A bed would be nice. No. Money. Money__ was __always nice._

"To the last penny."

Neal watched Keller opening the briefcase. Sokolow nodded. Smiled. _He had all his teeth. Bet he slept with one eye open. You know, just in case a snake slithered in at night to play dentist. Uhsshh, his jaw throbbed._

"Put it down."

Keller did as he was told. One of Sokolow's men stepped forward and searched the briefcase for anything suspicious. Sokolow continued to address Keller.

"I guess I have to thank you, my friend. I would love to tell you that it was a pleasure doing business with you… But it really wasn't."

Keller was sweating._ It was hot.__ Too hot. He was hot. Now Keller was talking, demanding. _

"Okay, you have what you want, now let us go."

"Matthew… My dear Matthew… You know, I'm not a bank. I have a reputation to maintain. When I give you money and you refuse to pay for years, I can't let you get away without a penalty…"

Keller's eyes widened with fear._ Why?_ _Had Sokolow said something wrong? The Russian was calm. Nothing wrong._

"I paid you all I owed, plus the interest you demanded!"

"True. But you scammed me three times before you paid me…. Look, it's really nothing personal. I just can't let you give people the wrong impression about my lending habits. You know how penalties work, you understand, right?"

_Penalties. Hockey. Peter liked hockey. Why was Sokolow talking to Keller about hockey? _

Sokolow's man was finished with the case and brought it to his boss. _Sokolow was still calm. _

Keller on the other hand was panicking. _Rule number one, don't panic. Rule number two... Was there a rule number two? He'd make rule number two__ a shower__ and a comfy bed. If__ Keller __would just stop..._

"No, you can't do this… There are agents out there…. I brought… the FBI."

Sokolow laughed. Neal laughed too. _That was funny. Keller brought the FBI._

"You try to play me? This place is secure. My men picked you up, searched you. No bugs. Nobody followed. Don't make a fool out of yourself. You know what? I don't even know why I'm talking to you. Checkmate, my friend, time to wipe the board clean."

_Checkmate? Clean board?__ Why would… Ohhh… Neal understood. __ Keller had thought he was a king, a bishop at least, not a pawn. Neal was a... Damn, it didn't matter with Sokolow in control of the board. A board he was about to wipe clean...__ Shit._

Sokolow turned to one of his men and gestured with a crisp nod. Sokolow held his hand out expectantly, until his fingers felt the cold of the stainless steel grip of the man's sidearm. In one fluid motion, Sokolow fingers wrapped around the grip and brought the gun on target.

_Damn, a gun. Neal didn't like guns. He just__ wanted to go home.__ Really, that wasn't so much to ask for. Home._


	17. Speechless

a/n: No babbling, just thanks to canadianscanget for her comments on this story and to Phoenix-cry who helped me decide in which movie-world-version I want this to go down from a medical point of view. I hope it's not too unrealistic, I tried to avoid that. All mistakes are still mine. And, of course, thanks for every review and message, they make writing this so much easier. Hope you enjoy it.

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><p>Peter slipped his response vest on. He reviewed every step to this point and every step he was about to take. He could not afford any errors.<p>

Flannigan had swallowed down her anger when he had told her to put a BOLO out for Irina Sokolowa's car. Peter was certain she would have demanded answers as to how he had come up with the lead, if it hadn't been for their time frame. Being a lead investigator in an FBI unit had it privileges and that included being able to throw in a commonplace like "Call it a hunch" now and then.

At first it had been hard for him to let Keller go without any security net, but at that moment it had been enough for him to get eyes on Sokolow. If his assumptions turned out to be right, Neal would be with the Russian and finding Neal was more important to Peter than any FBI operation that probably should have also mattered to him.

Flannigan had two Special Response Teams in position, Hughes had cleared an additional Special Weapons and Tactics Team under Peter's supervision. Peter was grateful for that. He knew that a third team wasn't really necessary and that it had been a friendly gesture from Hughes to allow Peter some freedom.

The guilt he felt for Mozzie still bothered Peter. The little guy had managed to get the money and had been clearly disappointed when Peter had shut him out from the actual operation. But Mozzie was no idiot. He knew that Peter had taken a risk to cover up his arrival in New York, claiming that Bob Garson had been a red herring and that the merchant hadn't carried anything other than legal antiquities. To bring Mozzie further into this investigation would have drawn suspicion Peter couldn't handle. Neal's friend had told Peter how to get in contact with him when everything was done, until then he'd stay low.

They had been able to track down Sokolowa's Volkswagen Touareg at about nine o'clock, entering the underground parking lot of Misha Sokolow's penthouse in the Upper East Side. Both Sokolow's and his sister's car had left an hour later. The Audi had stopped in front of the Onegin, a Russian trend bar at Sixth Avenue that belonged to the Falcon himself. Irina was known to come here to enjoy dinner with her fiancé, Sokolow's right hand Artem Volkov, but for Peter it bordered on presumptuousness to have some Stroganoff at a romantic dinner for two in the evening, after torturing a man in the afternoon. Anyway, Peter had been glad that he had insisted on having eyes on both cars when Irina had entered the Onegin without her brother. The Volkswagen had led them to a building under construction, apparently one of Sokolow's business projects. So much for Flannigan's theory that Sokolow driving his sister's car had been a one-shot.

The Russian had parked, then unhurriedly smoked a cigar while leading a conversation with the guard at the building's main entrance. Thermographic cameras had shown six more people in the building, three of them in the first floor, two in the basement. The sixth person was seated, their head slumped down. Peter had started to shake when he realized it had to be Neal. He had argued with Flannigan to go in there right away but the ATF agent was still in charge of the operation, and she had given clear orders not to approach until Keller was exchanging the money. It would be the last, most valuable proof that Sokolow traded explosives and weapons on a grand scale. Peter had returned to Thomas Spencer, the leader of his S.W.A.T. team, and informed him that Flannigan would not support their immediate entry. Peter had asked with a bitter grin, if one of the snipers could hand him over a weapon. Spencer had switched off his headset to tell Peter he would willingly shoot the vixen himself, if it wouldn't cause him so much paperwork. It had distracted Peter for a second from the thought that Neal was right in front of them but still out of reach.

Peter had called El while Sokolow had been playing cards with his bodyguards. Peter had been in need to find some comfort in his wife's voice, as he watched the man he wanted to bring down so badly casually whiling away time with a game of chance, while Neal was hurt in the basement. El had assured him that everything would be fine. She had choked back the tears, but her sweat voice and calming words had the desired effect. He had been able to watch Sokolow afterwards, without the strong urge to storm in and tear the man to shreds.

It was eleven o'clock. Peter shrugged and shifted against his vest, he had to admit he would never fully get used to the feeling of wearing it. The vest sat tight against his chest, almost stifling each breath, as though he had already been shot in the damn thing. A life-saver that constantly reminded him that he could die. Peter shifted again and continued to stare at the monitor of the thermographic camera until Keller finally arrived.

Peter had expected him to skip and was surprised the convict had the guts to show up. Everybody was focused, the teams were in position, Flannigan held her transceiver like a scepter, waiting for her very own moment of victory.

They watched Keller stoop, apparently to put down the suitcase he had brought with him, Flannigan was mumbling under her breath, speaking out Peter's thoughts. _Come on, come on, pick it up…_

One of Sokolow's men appeared to search the suitcase and Peter prayed that Mozzie hadn't planted a bug. Flannigan asked where Keller had gotten his money from, but Peter ignored her. His team would investigate the Matisse that had shown up on the black market but he already doubted they would be able to come up with any evidence as to who had sold or bought the high profile painting. It was a question of honor to keep this a secret.

Flannigan gave the order for the Response Teams to move close to the building and hold, careful to avoid any attention. They were close. So close.

When the agent specifically designated to watch Sokolow on the monitors, confirmed his movements were consistent with having the briefcase, Flannigan gave her command for an all go.

Fifteen, heavily armed officers entered the building and pinned down Sokolow's guards before they were able to warn their boss. It was strange nobody watched the entry point to the basement, but Peter figured Sokolow must have thought the guards on the first floor would have been enough. Peter counted; there were two men left, plus Sokolow and Keller. It shouldn't be a problem for the response teams.

Shouldn't be. Then the sound of a single shot reverberated through the building.

They entered the basement. Peter and Flannigan, right behind Peter's heavily armored S.W.A.T. team. Sokolow turned around, both shocked and angry. The usual commands were barked. _Guns down. Hands in the air_. Sokolow breathed heavily and stretched out his arm. Peter knew the glimmer in the Russian's eyes. The guy knew he had nothing to lose.

Sokolow's gun touched Neal's forehead. Peter reacted. Six shooters around him reacted. Sokolow's crumpled to the hard concrete floor, before the threatening grin had reached his face, before reality registered that the guns pointing at him were held in highly trained hands, before he could will his finger to squeeze the trigger.

Flannigan cursed when she saw her suspect go down.

Peter cursed when he was able to focus on Neal.

Peter got down on his knees in front of his partner, carefully searching Neal's neck for a pulse. Weak, but steady. Peter gave Neal a look over. His shoulder was a mess, his face was pale, his lips bloody. His skin was hot and clammy. Neal stirred and glassy eyes suddenly met his own.

"P'ter? How…?" Neal's eyes suddenly widened and Peter was afraid he'd panic. "He... Clean… clean board…He… He shot'im."

Peter turned around to look at Keller. The bullet must have hit the heart. Peter swallowed hard. He was far from mourning Keller, but he had promised the guy protection and he had failed to keep that promise. Neal shivering under his hands drew Peter's attention back to his friend.

"It's okay, I got you… I got you, Neal." Peter looked around, and barked at the first agents his eyes landed on. They should get the damn paramedics down to him. Jones was at his side now as well.

Jones took out a knife and carefully cut the ties. Neal gasped for air when his arms were finally free. He fell forward. Peter caught him and watched helplessly, when Neal winced and tried to breath despite the pain he had to be in. Jones helped Peter maneuver Neal into a more upright position to ease his breathing, until the paramedics on standby arrived. When they did, Peter stepped back, he knew the drill, but Neal's look made it hard for him to step aside. He didn't know how to read those eyes. He didn't know if they held an apology or a disappointed reproach. For now it didn't matter. He'd made it to Neal. He was alive. And, at that moment he didn't have any doubts that Neal would be fine. Back to suits and fedoras in no time. Right?

Right. Neal's condition was critical.

Had the bullet wound to the shoulder been treated immediately it would have posed no threat. The doctor, a woman that could have been attractive if it wasn't for her stiff appearance, talked a lot and Peter glazed over with the words _critical_ and _next of kin_. Apparently the fever wasn't the problem. It was the infection per se, the blood loss and the pain Neal had suffered over the last couple of hours, that continued to changed his overall condition for worse . For some reason they weren't able to stabilize him. They would tell more after forty-eight hours. Peter wondered if it were really forty-eight hours or if doctors just learned that from Hollywood movies to keep people calm.

Peter had sent Jones and Diana home after some initial resistance. The both conceded there was little they could do other than waiting at the hospital. Better they get some sleep now if this was going to draw out for forty-eight hours or more. Then Peter called Mozzie again. When he had called him earlier he had heard a sigh of relief. Now, he heard nothing but dead silence. After Mozzie found his voice, he told Peter he would pick June up and head to the hospital. Peter asked him if he would pick El up at the bureau, he hoped the familiar faces would ease some of El's upset.

Half an hour later, El fell into his arms. Peter drew in the scent of her hair and suddenly he was so tired that he started to sway. El looked up to him and the concern in her eyes brought back his own guilt. She shouldn't feel this way, it wasn't right. And although he knew that this whole mess wasn't on Neal alone, Peter stared to curse him again for keeping a secret like this. True, Mozzie had been the instigator with the treasure, but it was Neal, who Peter had placed his trust in. It was Neal, who Peter wanted to save from a lifestyle that continued to bring him into harm's way. It was Neal, who Peter called a friend.

Peter's hands started to shake. El asked him if he was alright. He didn't have to answer, she would see right through him anyway. It was June who told them to go home. Mozzie and she would stay and call if anything changed. Peter refused and asked June to take El with her for the night instead. El claimed that she wanted to be with him, but she was tired, Peter could see that, and it didn't take him long to convince her that he didn't need her with him. Mozzie stayed. Peter hadn't suspected anything else.

They were allowed to see Neal after nine hours. Peter had slept four of them on the hard plastic seats of the waiting room. Neal hadn't woken up so far, but the doctor said it wasn't a reason for concern. In fact, they were optimistic. Neal had made it through surgery without further complications and he seemed to respond well with his therapy. Peter asked if Neal was out of the woods. The doctor nodded. Peter had to sit down to fight of the nausea that hit him together with the relief that Neal was about to pull through. Mozzie told him to go to El. Peter knew it was probably the best idea to get some sleep, now that he knew everything was going to be alright.

Peter drove to June's. Neal's landlady had waited for him, relieved to have the direct reassurance from Peter that Neal was okay. June led him to one of the guest rooms and told Peter she would join Mozzie at the hospital. If they needed anything they shouldn't hesitate to call.

Peter found El sleeping. When he crawled under the covers, she moaned softly, then she got closer to him. Peter kissed her forehead and thanked God that she was alright. With his wife in his arms and the security that Neal would be fine, Peter finally allowed himself to get some rest. Sleep wouldn't bring closure, he knew that. But it was a beginning.


	18. Excuse

**Allusions**: The Soma I'm referring to is the Huxley version, not the real deal, of course. The mentioned art and manuscripts are real. Everything I know about them were from my courses at the university and I didn't check if my prof's theories were right. I know about "Erec", though, that's confirmed. Most of the quotes are from Goethe's Faust, next to Mann's "The Magic Mountain" the most influential book I've ever read, even though the English translation does not really live up to it.

**Disclaimer**: White Collar doesn't belong to me. Neither does Huxley, Goethe, Twain, Emerson or anything else mentioned in this chapter.

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><p>Mozzie had never seen his friend like this ever before. Neal was pale, broken, he woke up from time to time, confused, almost afraid of everything around him. Doctors came from time to time, telling Mozzie that everything was fine and gave Neal another shot of Morphine. Mozzie wasn't sure, if he could believe the doctors when they told him they kept Neal hooked on Soma for his own good, and every time Neal drifted back to sleep, Mozzie was lost a little bit more.<p>

It took four days until Neal was stable and showing signs of being the man Mozzie knew. It was another two days before he was able to stay awake more than an hour.

"Thank you for coming back, Mozz."

That was the first thing Mozzie had heard from Neal.

"Don't mention it."

That was the first thing Mozzie had answered.

And then they left it there. Mozzie was too afraid to trouble Neal with the whole story and Neal obviously didn't push. They talked about almost everything else, from Warhol's strange 'aboutness'-hypothesis to the question of whether or not the Master of Flemalle was Rogier van der Wayden's teacher Robert Campin. They talked about why the beginning of "Erec" in the Ambras Book of Heroes was missing and why nobody had come to the obvious conclusion that the writer had been a tax inspector, blind spots to common sense. They talked about the Book of Kells and why it would have been easier to forge than the United States Declaration of Independence. Quite frankly, the only thing they didn't talk about was the elephant in the room.

The Suit hadn't shown up since that first harrowing day. Everybody - El, the Lady Suit, Jones - excused his absences as work related and problems with the ATF. Mozzie knew the reason for Peter's absence had nothing to do with work. In the hours Neal's life had hung in the balance, the agent had been terribly quiet, lost in his own frown, rarely blinking, rarely moving. Peter had never asked Mozzie about the treasure - why he had taken it, which role Neal had played - but the way the Suit looked at him… as though Mozzie had taken something from him, something essential. Mozzie knew that Peter was grateful that Neal had brought El home safely, but he also knew that the agent was far from forgiving Neal his "betrayal". Mozzie had never understood their relationship. Both Neal and his "handler", handler like in warden, had to be aware to a certain point that they were lying to themselves: Neal would never be able to withstand temptations and Peter would never be able to fully trust him.

The part Mozzie himself played in this long lasting charade was clear to him, as were the measures of guilt in this case. He was Neal's ever present link to the world they both once dwelled in without hesitation. He was Neal's Mephistopheles, _"the Spirit that denies"._Mozzie should have listened to the second part of that damn speech. _"And rightly too; for all that doth begin / Should rightly to destruction run; / 'Twere better than that nothing were begun."_He had almost destroyed everything with his moderate wish to settle down, ignoring the fact that for Neal it had never been about the_'final score_.' Neal was a gambler, a dreamer. Mozzie had to admit that a life on a leash offered more excitement than the quiet, final destination Mozzie had dangled. He had to get this off his chest, had to apologize.

Mozzie sighed in relief when he found Neal's room free of any other visitors. June came by often, talking to the nurses in a way that showed that her delegating skills didn't need sharpening. These days, Mozzie was almost afraid of the lady. Neal must have seen the relief on Mozzie's face.

"You expected troubles, Mozz?"

Mozzie carefully closed the doors behind him.

"No, everything's fine. How're you doing?"

Neal nodded half-heartedly.

"Fine. Got the results from the tests today. No nerve damages, the arm should be fine if I get into therapy. What you got there?"

He gestured toward the bag Mozzie was holding.

"Oh yes, right… I brought you something. Thought you might wanna start your own therapy with that hand. One that seems more… appropriate for you. I know you're not as _'comfortable'_with your left hand, but it should be enough for this."

Mozzie fumbled out a book and a small set of pencils. Neal lifted his eyebrows, then laughed.

"'Drawing for Dummies'? Mozz, are you serious?"

"Like I said… Never been good with your left hand. They say it's good for practice." It was the first time Mozzie saw Neal's eyes lighten up since he'd regained consciousness. Maybe it was the right moment now. "You know, DaVinci was left-handed."

The joy in Neal's eyes was gone almost immediately and Mozzie already started to regret that he had touched on the subject.

"I know, I probably should've shown you."

"Probably? Neal, this is La Gioconda we're talking about. It's not like a Monet that can be found on every street corner… How did you get her in the first place?"

"Right. Monet's are not that easy to get. And it's a long story... A really long story." Neal sighed. "And it doesn't matter now anyway. Sokolow ended up with the painting. You should've seen him… he… he cut her. Without even hesitating, he… he didn't even realize… Then he told Keller to take the painting with him. He said… it was _'an offense to his eyes'_. Can you believe that? I doubt we'll ever find out where Keller took it. It's lost. I can't believe it. I lost the Mona Lisa."

"Well, yes, you did. Just like the Louvre. But maybe Keller was stupid enough to bring it to the meeting with Peter. Maybe he gave it to the barman to watch it for a second. Maybe the barman was too curious about the big suitcase so that he kept looking from it to Keller and back again all the time. Not very discrete, Keller should've known better. But maybe, he was too distracted to see that his _gofer_ gave him away. Maybe he wasn't able notice that somebody snuck back in after claiming to leave the restaurant to check out what's behind the bar that made the barkeeper so nervous. Maybe, just maybe, Keller didn't even see how that somebody took the suitcase from behind the bar just to find a priceless painting in it afterwards."

Neal's eyes widened.

"Oh no, you didn't!"

"The barman's called Paul. He couldn't help picking up a hundred dollar note when he saw it lying on the ground."

Neal smiled now and Mozzie started to forget how worthless he felt because of this whole thing.

"You're a genius, Mozz. Where'd you take her?"

"A storage container… It's out of your range, but I installed a live stream, so you can see it." Neal's face lost all color. "Just kidding, Neal. I locked the lady up in a safe. Thought you might wanna restore her face on your own."

"I do, I really do. Thank you."

Neal nodded and suddenly it hit Mozzie that he didn't deserve Neal's gratitude at all.

"Look Neal, I'm sorry… I… I'm…" Mozzie sighed. He had never been able to express his feelings with his own words. _"__'Destruction - in a word, as Evil represent- / That is my own, real element.' _"

"Is that Goethe? Why the hell are you quoting Goethe?"

Mozzie sat down on the chair next to Neal.

"I'm evil, like Mephistopheles. I got Elizabeth kidnapped, I almost got you killed… And now Peter's not even talking to you because of me!"

Neal's face hardened, his jaw clenched.

"This isn't your fault, Mozz. Peter was done with me the moment Keller got El. I was the one who lied to him, it was my decision."

Mozzie saw where this led. Neal needed to see the truth here.

"Peter wasn't done with you. He's just… It's some sort of inner conflict."

Neal laughed bitterly, avoiding Mozzie's eyes.

"Yeah, right… I broke his trust, that's what he said. With my… what did he call it? _'Obsession with glimmering things.' _There's a reason Peter hasn't shown up by now, you know that. He hates me for what happened to El. And I can't blame him for that."

Stubborn idiot. Neal had always had a talent in missing the obvious.

"Neal, he risked his career to get you back. He covered up my tracks, told me to sell the Matisse. He worked with Keller, for God's sake. You think he would've done that if he was through with you? You know what he did to make me come back? He quoted Emerson."

Neal finally looked up.

"Which quote?"

"_A Friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature._" Realization sank in and Neal swallowed. Mozzie cleared his throat and stepped closer. "Listen, Neal… '_Time cools, time clarifies; no mood can be maintained quite unaltered through the course of hours.'_Mark Twain._"_

"So, I should give Peter time? 'S that what you suggest?"

Mozzie knew this was hard for Neal. Unlike him, Neal had always been generous with his friendship. Smiling at people, talking to them, helping them out, it came easy to Neal. But patience and loyalty were a different kind of thing. Neal had been willing to invest both in his relationship to Peter, but he somehow expected to get it back at the same level.

"Well, do you think the Suit deserves it?"

Mozzie watched Neal closely as he got lost in this question for a moment.

"Not sure…"

"But?"

"Dunno… It's just… I probably don't deserve any better."

Neal would never send him away, but Mozzie figured it would be better to leave Neal alone with his thoughts right now.

Mozzie excused himself, he assured Neal he'd be back later. He offered a hesitant pat on Neal's left arm and exited without further word. When he closed the door behind him, he saw Burke leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway. The agent didn't seem to notice him. Mozzie considered talking to him for a moment, but he knew that the Suit would need to figure out what to do on his own.

Mozzie swiftly turned the other way and slunk down the hall. Even after leaving the hospital he couldn't stop thinking about the turmoil Peter's face had born. And once again Goethe's Faust popped into Mozzie's mind. _'For seeing, I'm born, For watching, employed.'_ The only thing Mozzie could hope for was that Peter would stop being just the sworn federal agent quickly and finally become the friend that Neal needed now.


	19. Smile

Last chapter, I can't believe it… Thank you all so much for your encouragement and your feedback, it kept me work hard on this. Thanks to **liebedero** for looking through this and **Phoenix-cry** for a little insight of the American health system. If I still got anything wrong, it's entirely my fault, because it's way too complicated to understand…

I cannot thank **canadianscanget** enough for her help, I certainly needed it. I enjoyed working with you very much, so hugs and kudos for leading me through this story the way you did!

The poem in the beginning is from Rainer Maria Rilke. The translation is not the best one, but it still holds an aspect of this story. If you didn't know Rilke by now, you should look him up, he is a true genius.

**Disclaimer**: White Collar does not belong to me.

* * *

><p><em>I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough<em>  
><em>to make every hour holy.<em>  
><em>I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough<em>  
><em>just to stand before you like a thing,<em>  
><em>dark and shrewd.<em>  
><em>I want my will, and I want to be with my will<em>  
><em>as it moves towards deed;<em>  
><em>and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,<em>  
><em>when something is approaching,<em>  
><em>I want to be with those who are wise<em>  
><em>or else alone.<em>  
><em>I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,<em>  
><em>and never to be too blind or too old<em>  
><em>to hold your heavy, swaying image.<em>  
><em>I want to unfold.<em>  
><em>Nowhere do I want to remain folded,<em>  
><em>because where I am bent and folded, there I am lie.<em>  
><em>And I want my meaning<em>  
><em>true for you. I want to describe myself<em>  
><em>like a painting that I studied<em>  
><em>closely for a long, long time,<em>  
><em>like a word I finally understood,<em>  
><em>like the pitcher of water I use every day ,<em>  
><em>like the face of my mother,<em>  
><em>like a ship<em>  
><em>that carried me<em>  
><em>through the deadliest storm of all.<em>

** - Rainer Maria Rilke**

* * *

><p>For the first time in his life, Neal Caffrey was upset about being released from a hospital. The doctors were reserved, the nurses grumpy and the food was close to solid proof that the hospital wanted to see him dead rather than alive. But everything - the people, the food, the smell ... hell, even the pain he had suffered when they started to reduce the morphine - everything, was better than the uncertainty he was about to face with his release.<p>

Diana had brought a new anklet the day before. She had looked a little bit guilty, but Neal had shrugged his shoulders with a smile. He had expected this. To be honest, he wondered what had taken them so long to put him back under the constant monitoring. Probably the fact that he couldn't get from one end of the room to the other without help…

Anyways, he was back on the leash. Diana had informed Neal that Hughes had set a hearing in a month, a little time to convalesce. He was allowed to stay at June's until then. The hospital had Neal transferred to the transitional care unit on the 6th floor and they had wanted to keep him there some time but Mozzie had objected as Neal's lawyer. His client wouldn't survive the hospital food that long. It looked as if it was going to be homecare for Neal. He wasn't sure why his insurance was willing to pay for that but on the other hand insurance policies weren't hard to forge…

Neal had asked Diana if she'd heard anything about his returning to the White Collar unit. She hadn't, but seemed hesitant and finally admitted that Peter hadn't spoken out on the question, and she had no idea if he was on Neal's side on this or not.

Actually, Peter hadn't spoken about anything. Elizabeth stopped by every day and stayed for hours. Neal knew that she tried to make up for her husband's absence. It hurt him that he wasn't able to pretend as if everything was fine for her sake. Neal realized things would be complicated between Peter and him, but he had been almost positive that getting Elizabeth out of harm's way would give him at least the right to explain himself. That seemed to be anything but the case.

What really bothered Neal most about getting released tomorrow was the fact that it wouldn't be Peter, who was going to pick him up. Neal had asked both Jones and Diana if they were, but both of them had shaken their heads. Neal snorted with a bitter smile. Of course, Peter wouldn't allow his best field agents to play driver for a felon.

Neal sighed and picked up another piece of paper. After they reduced the morphine, there was nothing to stave off the dreams and thoughts that haunted him, only the countless drafts and sketches offered him any reprieve. It was the Mona Lisa. Always the Mona Lisa that he drew: the soft edges of her eyelids; the dark shadows under her chin; the floating curls of her hair. The hardest part was to capture the thought her face bore. People could keep rambling about her smile, but they didn't see that it wasn't her mouth that made her look pleased. It was something in her eyes, not the line between her lips, that held that impression. Neal tried to get behind it like he had so many times before, but he failed again. He knew he wouldn't be able to restore the painting if he wasn't even able to fill a sheet of paper with her smile. His hand would make a forgery out of her.

Neal stashed away the sheet with a half-finished draft of the Mona Lisa and called for a nurse. He didn't have the nerves to do this tonight, not when he had to face some random Marshal rookie picking him up tomorrow. An elderly woman came in and looked at him with earnest concern. When she saw that he wasn't dying, the impression on her face changed from red alert to suspicious annoyance within seconds. Gotta love night nurses.

"Mr. Caffrey, can I do something for you?"

"Uhm, I don't know, ..." Neal squinted his eyes to read her name tag. "… Jackie? Is your name really Jackie?"

She was clearly huffy.

"Look, Mr. Caffrey, I don't know what you're up to but Agent Burke told all of us to be careful. We know who you are. Don't even try to trick me, it won't work. So, do you need anything?"

_'Agent Burke'_had told them? Now, that explained their attitude toward him.

"Do you have some time to spare?"

"For what?"

Neal waved with the pencil in his hand.

"Would you sit for me?" She was obviously surprised and torn between believing him and calling security. "Look… I'm not up to do anything bad, it's just… I'm bored and thought you might have…"

He got interrupted by the nurse stepping forward.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"There are three other nurses on the watch. I can spare half an hour. That enough for you?"

Neal smiled.

"Perfect."

She sat down on the chair next to him, obviously uncertain what to do.

"S'that okay?"

Neal nodded and concentrated on the blank page in front of him. His left shoulder throbbed a little bit, but he pushed the feeling aside and focused on the lines of the woman's face. He didn't put in too many details, just where he thought it was necessary. There was a light scar under her lower lip and laugh lines around her eyes – stories he wanted the drawing to tell. Neal didn't have problems with the glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, nor with the dawn of the grin on her lips. It didn't take him half an hour to finish. He signed the drawing and handed her the small piece of paper. She smiled warmly and nodded.

"Impressive… Thank you."

"No, thank you. It was a pleasure."

She asked him if he needed anything else and when he told her that he was alright, she left. Neal curled up in his bed as far as his shoulder and his broken ribs let him and closed his eyes. This shouldn't have been easier than drawing the Mona Lisa, but after all, the nurse was real. He had seen some truth in her and that alone made Neal relax. Maybe he could still do it; maybe he was still able to get the truth behind people. Neal smiled. Sleep came easily.

* * *

><p>Neal didn't know if he woke up because he was well-rested or because he felt the presence of somebody in his room. He opened his eyes and found Peter standing at the window, his hands on his hips, his back to Neal. Peter must have felt Neal's eyes on him, as he glanced over his shoulder.<p>

"Morning."

Neal was… confused didn't really describe it.

"Morning."

"How're you feeling?"

Neal sat up and slowly anger replaced his bafflement.

"Nice of you to ask, Peter… Well, I got shot, you know, so… it still hurts a little. And my ribs were broken, but it's fine as long as I don't breathe… What else? Uhm, I'm missing a tooth, but hey, that's what happens when you get captured by the mob, right? Nothing special. Nothing that would… let's say… make your partner visit you in hospital."

Peter didn't turn around, but Neal saw his shoulders tense.

"I'm…"

Neal didn't let him finish his sentence.

"What? Sorry? What for, Peter? I get it, it's my own fault. You could've spared yourself the duty call."

Finally, Peter turned towards him. The way he frowned, the way he avoided eye contact, shook Neal to the core.

"You think that's what this is for me? A duty call? You're a self-righteous idiot, you know that?"

Neal felt his heart bumping hard against his chest.

"Prove me wrong. Why did you come? Why now?"

Peter hung his head.

"You can't do that to me. First El. Then you… I…"

"Peter, …"

"No, you don't get it," Peter's voice was harsh, almost cold. "If you did, you wouldn't have kept the treasure a secret."

Mozzie had told Neal that Peter knew the whole story. But obviously his handler still didn't see the reason behind keeping it a secret. Or he didn't want to see. Neal hadn't been sure about his ability to stay, not until Mozzie had issued an ultimatum. Neal couldn't deny that the treasure had been a sort of exit strategy for him. But that wasn't the whole truth.

"If I'd have wanted, I could have been gone a long time ago. I stayed. What more do you want from me?"

Peter didn't raise his voice, but the undertone of his words was more demanding now. This was turning into an interrogation.

"The truth, Neal. I wanted the truth. And I still don't have it. Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you tell me? You put El in danger. Do you have any idea what could've happened?"

"Yeah, I do. That was the whole point in going after Keller. To make sure she was safe. And I didn't tell you because Mozzie is family. And you don't turn your back on family."

Peter snorted.

"But it's okay to turn your back on a friend…"

Neal winced when he heard Peter talking about him as a friend. After everything that happened, how could it still sound so right to him?

"I'd go through hell and high water, Neal, but you can't ask me to go through something like this… to have my wife taken from me, to... to nearly lose my partner, and expect me to simply forgive you."

That hit home.

"I didn't, I… I don't. I don't expect you to forgive me, Peter. I just thought… Dunno… that you'd be here." Neal dropped his gaze. "You weren't here."

"I know."

"Nobody would tell me what was going on."

"I know."

"I thought you were through with me."

"I'm not."

Oppressing silence followed, until Peter sat down and sighed. Neal looked at him, almost smiling.

"What now?"

Peter shrugged.

"Don't know. You've been questioned by Diana?"

Neal nodded as he remembered the interview three days ago.

"That should be enough for Organized Crime to investigate Irina Sokolowa. Seems as if her fiancé stepped into Sokolow's footsteps on his death. Not sure if we can get her behind bars. She has good lawyers and an alibi."

Neal laughed. Smart girl. Typical.

"We all saw what happened to Keller and OPR will investigate the shooting on Sokolow and my involvement in it but that's more of a formality."

"That's all very interesting, but you know that's not what I meant, right?"

Peter looked up, his eyes full of expectation. Neal had missed that wanna-be smirk.

"Well, what did you mean?"

Neal rolled his eyes.

"You're impossible, Peter… Don't make this more embarrassing than it already is…"

The wanna-be smirk turned into a real Burke-smirk. Neal had missed those as well.

"I have truly no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on… What's going to happen with… You know… you and me?"

"Well, _you_will be released in the evening; they want to run some tests before they let you go. You'll stay with June. They say rehabilitation and physical therapy will take quite a while. But they're also impressed with how fast you seem to recover."

Neal was running out of patience with Peter. He was set to interrupt again, but before he could, the agent stood and took off his jacket.

"Me… I will pick you up this evening. El wants to cook for you as often as she can, so I'll play meals on wheels from then on, until you get well enough to join us at our home. When you're ready, and if Hughes clears you, which he will, I can promise you that your desk in the bureau will be waiting, if you still want it."

Neal didn't know what to say. All these days Peter had refused to visit him, had refused to talk to him. It seemed like a miracle that he was willing to give him his life back now. But in the end it was choices like this that made Peter Burke the man he was. Peter had never fully trusted him, but he had also never hesitated to put his faith in Neal. Not many people had ever done that for him.

"You didn't have to do this."

"I know."

"You could've sent me back to prison."

"I know."

"But you're giving me a second chance."

"I am."

Neal frowned.

"We're running circles here, do you know that?

Peter thought about that and laughed.

"Yeah, we do."

"Thank you, Peter."

"You're welcome."

Neal had problems picking up the conversation again and Peter obviously felt the same way. Neal was about to start a random chitchat about his doctor that seemed to be stiff as a poker, when Peter suddenly jumped up.

"I almost forgot. Brought something for you." Peter opened a suitcase Neal hadn't noticed and pulled out something in wrapping paper. "El bought it, but… It was my idea."

Peter smiled and handed him over the small package. Neal had problems removing the tape with only one hand and he could tell from Peter's sigh that the agent was the kind of person that tore wrapping paper in shreds. Neal shook his head and continued to remove the paper carefully. What appeared was a wooden box. The checkerboard pattern got its magic from the shiny varnish. It was classic - dark brown and ecru, obviously new. Neal wasn't sure what to think. He opened the box and expected chess pieces and was surprised to find 24 equally round shaped pieces, twelve in black and twelve in white. Neal lifted his eyebrows.

"Checkers? Are you serious?"

Peter didn't seem to understand the meaning of Neal's question.

"Thought you'd have enough of chess for a while. And checkers is fun." Neal was trying to pretend to be happy, but he failed miserably and Peter noticed. "You don't like checkers, do you?"

Neal tried to save what was still there to save.

"Nah… It's okay… It's just…"

"What?"

"We can play checkers… if you want to. No problem."

Peter sighed and sat down again.

"What would you play, Neal? Right now, if you could pick, what would you play?"

"Good question." Neal thought about it for a moment, looking Peter over. Suddenly something very obvious popped into his mind. "Parcheesi."

Peter's jaw dropped.

"Parcheesi? Are you kidding me?"

"Compared to checkers… It's less about forced capture and not being able to move back and more about getting four pieces home."

Peter's eyes got the soft touch Neal had been looking for.

"Huh, maybe Parcheesi _is_ a good game to play."

"But checkers is great, really… It's like chess but without… the mind part… But hey, you were right. Not really enthusiastic about playing chess right now. So, I'll be happy to play checkers with you!"

"You're a terrible liar."

"Excuse me? I'm a great liar. I'm a con man." Peter glared at him. "Was. I was a con man. Long time ago."

Neal cleared his throat and got the pieces on the board in front him to get Peter distracted.

"Let's play checkers, shall we? White moves first. Go ahead."

* * *

><p>They played until Neal was too exhausted to go on. He had won every game, but he knew that Peter wasn't trying to beat him. A doctor came in, checking his vitals. When she told them that Neal would have to stay for at least five to six more hours, Peter decided to leave him alone and let him rest.<p>

Neal slept almost the whole time and when he woke up he felt remarkably refreshed. Peter's presence had lifted a weight from Neal's shoulders. If he ever had doubts about whether it had been the right decision to stay, they were gone now. He couldn't promise to keep his fingers from doing their magic in the future, but he was sure that he wasn't willing to jeopardize what he had with Peter and the FBI. Maybe some low profile jobs. Nothing serious. Just to stay in shape.

Peter brought him home from hospital. Neal was exhausted from the short drive to June's house, but something kept bothering him and would not let him rest. He tried repeatedly to settle, until it finally hit him - what he wanted, needed to do right now.

Neal stood up again and pulled out a large-sized scratchpad from under his bed. He carefully sharpened his pencils, again struggling with his left hand and prepared everything on the large table in his kitchen. Neal slowly breathed in and out. He closed his eyes and tried to recall Elizabeth's smile and the contentment it could hold. He tried to recall Mozzie's dark playfulness and their friendship that had grown out of it. He tried to recall Peter's eyes, a light brown and warm place that promised so much, and that constantly reminded him what was at stake.

Neal started with her cheeks that slowly evolved into the curves of her jaw. He only outlined her hair, her neck. It was her face that was important. He shaded her nose. He curved her lips, the line over her chin. He knew that he made it wrong. He should have started with her eyes, but it felt right to keep them for last. He darkened her lids, pushed harder to get her lashes right. Then he got to her irises, her pupils, dark and soft, holding a secret she didn't want to share with the world. Neal forced her to become real on this paper, as real as she needed to be. He was breathing hard when he finally stepped back. His head hurt. His shoulder hurt. His ribs hurt. But he was satisfied. He looked at the draft in front of him one last time and went to bed. Everything would be fine. The Mona Lisa was smiling again.

**The End**

*Sitting in the corner, waiting for your reviews.*


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